A Step In Time (2 page)

Tim shook his head and my heart sank.

‘Longer?’ I whispered. ‘Two months?’

‘You assaulted her, Amy,’ Tim said. ‘You broke her nose.’

‘She was kissing Matty,’ I pointed out.

‘You were given a caution. You were lucky not to be charged.’

‘I wasn’t charged because her nose was full of coke and she didn’t want to make a fuss,’ I said.

Tim shrugged.

‘That’s as may be,’ he said. ‘But she doesn’t work for me and you do.’

He paused.

‘At least, you did.’

I went cold. I buried my face in my scarf and looked up at Tim in horror.

‘What are you saying?’

‘Don’t give me those puppy dog eyes Amy,’ Tim said. ‘You know what I’m saying.’

‘I’m out?’

He nodded.

‘My hands are tied, love,’ he said. ‘You punched someone, your pants are all over the
PostOnline
and there’s bound to be more. They’ll be after anything and everything. Ex-boyfriends, girls you fell out with at school, hairdressers you were rude to – it’s all fair game now.’

I closed my eyes.

‘Build them up, knock them down,’ I said.

‘Exactly,’ Tim said.

‘No,’ I said. ‘No. The viewers love Betsy. They love her and they love me.’

I jumped to my feet.

‘Look,’ I said, pointing to a framed photo of me gripping a gold statue that had pride of place on the office wall. ‘Do you think the show would have won this BAFTA without Betsy’s mental health problems?’

Tim shrugged.

I picked up a pile of magazines that were on his bookshelf and went through them one by one.

‘Amy wins big,’ I read, showing him a photo of me with an armload of statues at last year’s soap awards.

‘Steal Amy’s summer style.’ I opened
Hot
magazine at a fashion shoot I’d done and waved it at him.

‘Amy bares all?’ I fake-gasped, then giggled as I showed Tim the cover of
Cosmo
featuring a make-up-free me. ‘I was in make-up for an hour before that shoot.’

‘Don’t,’ Tim said. ‘Don’t do this.’

But I was on a roll. I picked up
Yay!

‘Amy and Matty: Our plans for the future,’ I read. My voice shook as my bravado deserted me.

‘I’ve lost him, Tim,’ I said, hugging the magazine close. ‘Don’t make me lose this, too.’

‘No one’s bigger than the show,’ Tim said sadly. ‘But you’ll be okay. You’re very talented.’

‘I can come back, right?’ I said, still gripping my magazine. ‘Betsy will come back?’

Tim looked down at his feet.

‘We’re killing you off,’ he said.

I couldn’t speak.

‘It’s going to be huge,’ Tim carried on. ‘The biggest whodunnit since “who shot JR?”. People will be talking about it for years.’

I bit my lip. I didn’t want him to see me cry.

‘We’re rewriting some stuff,’ Tim said. ‘And we’ll film your last scenes this afternoon.’

I felt sick. This afternoon? How could my entire life change so fast? But I pasted on a smile, took a deep breath and stood up, throwing
Yay!
down on the desk.

‘Okay then,’ I said briskly. ‘Let me have the script A-sap, yes? Thanks for everything.’

I air-kissed him on both cheeks and legged it out of his office, down the corridor and into the safety of my dressing room. And then I started to cry.

Chapter Two

I never let myself cry for too long because I hated when my face got all puffy and my eyes swelled up. So after about ten minutes sobbing into the cushions on my dressing room sofa, I forced myself to get up and face the rest of the day. At
Turpin Road
we shared our dressing rooms, though I’d heard that on other soaps they got their own. I shared with two other actresses, which I quite liked, actually. They were nice enough and generally I enjoyed having someone to hang out with. Not today, though. Today I was relieved that they weren’t around and I had the place to myself so I could wallow in gloom alone.

I knew that I’d be called on set soon, so I dragged myself into the shower, trying to think about anything and everything apart from the fact that in the space of twenty-four hours I’d gone from being TV’s hottest star to a jobless, homeless, boyfriendless nobody. I stifled another sob as I shampooed my hair. Crying wouldn’t solve anything.

By the time I got out of the shower, I had thirteen missed calls – mostly from my agent, Babs, who’d been phoning me non-stop since the story went viral this morning – and a script pushed under my dressing room door. That was it then, the end of Betsy. I picked up the envelope – it was very thin, so obviously the script wasn’t very long. Poor Betsy. I took a deep breath before I opened the flap and scanned the text.

Disgusted, I threw the papers to the floor. I’d given this show three years of my life, and this was how they repaid me? I was their biggest asset. In my head I heard Tim’s voice in my head saying: ‘No one is bigger than
Turpin Road
, Amy.’ I winced. What a way for him to prove his point.

Well, at least I didn’t have any lines to learn really. I could just lie on the sofa and feel sorry for myself until I got called on set.

I slumped down and had had my eyes closed for about thirty seconds when my phone rang. Listlessly I looked at the screen. Babs. Again. I supposed I couldn’t avoid her for ever, so I swiped the screen to answer.

‘Hi Babs.’

‘Bloody bollocking hell, Amy. What the flaming arse have you been doing?’

I held the phone away from my ear as she continued her foul-mouthed tirade. Babs swore like a trooper at the best of times, so when faced with a crisis – like now – she was really filthy. Eventually she calmed down a bit and I cautiously put the phone back to my ear. Her voice softened.

‘How are you?’ she said. ‘Are you holding up?’

I felt close to tears again.

‘Don’t be nice,’ I warned. ‘I am barely holding it together and if you’re nice I’ll crumble.’

‘Chin up,’ Babs said in her no-nonsense Glasgow tone. ‘I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?’

‘Bad,’ I said, bracing myself.

‘The catalogue’s pulled your fashion line,’ she said. I groaned. That was the end of my wardrobe full of free clothes then.

‘And the good news?’

‘Hold on, I’ve not finished the bad news yet,’ Babs said. ‘Your nail varnishes are on hold but it’s not looking good, and I’ve had a call asking you not to come to the premiere tonight.’

‘I’d forgotten all about it,’ I said. ‘And all my clothes are at Matty’s flat anyway.’

‘Where are you staying?’ Babs asked.

‘Phil’s,’ I said, sitting up on the couch and picking up a cushion to hug. ‘He’s looking after me, like always.’

‘Every girl needs a gay best friend, eh?’ said Babs.

I laughed without any real humour.

‘Yeah, well, it’s not quite so fabulous when your gay best friend’s boyfriend hates you,’ I said. ‘I can’t stay there for long.’

‘Where will you go?’

‘Not sure,’ I said. ‘Maybe to my mum’s for a while. Get some sun.’ And a whole lot of grief, though – I was trying not to think about that. Another thought struck me.

‘What’s the good news?’

‘What good news?’

‘You said there was good news’

‘Oh, yes,’ Babs said. ‘I just want you to know that this is not a disaster. I’ve got people out of worse scrapes than a small punch-up in a nightclub.’

I smiled despite myself.

‘It wasn’t really a small punch,’ I said. ‘More of a wallop.’

Babs made a dismissive sound.

‘And my knickers are all over the internet,’ I added, feeling another wave of self-pity.

‘Ach,’ said Babs. ‘It’s fine.’

‘It’s not fine,’ I said. ‘It’s awful. I really just want to go away for a while. Disappear for, like, six months, longer even. I can get off the bloody media roller coaster and lick my wounds, then come back revitalised and ready for a new challenge.’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Babs, I can’t do this,’ I wailed. ‘There are paps everywhere. And Tim’s right – they’re going to dig up every tiny bit of dirt they can. This story will go on and on and on. Unless I disappear and give them nothing.’

‘Oh, get over yourself,’ Babs said. ‘You’re not bloody Greta Garbo. If you disappear now, everyone will forget you. Your career will be over.’

‘Ouch,’ I said. ‘That’s harsh.’

‘It’s true,’ said Babs unsympathetically. ‘But don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.’

‘You have?’ I said, feeling marginally more cheerful.

‘We need to make the most of this interest in you. Use it to our advantage and take control.’

‘And how do we do that?’

‘Oh, it’s easy. We just need people to know how lovely you are,’ she said blithely. ‘Not Betsy – Amy. Your adoring public need to remember why they adored you in the first place.’

‘Right,’ I said, doubtfully. ‘I’m not sure that’s the most straightforward idea you’ve ever had. How would we do it, anyway?’

‘Reality TV, baby,’ she said.

I took the phone from my ear and scowled at it.

‘No,’ I said. ‘No.’

‘Don’t dismiss it, Amy,’ Babs said. ‘It can work wonders.’

‘And it can destroy careers,’ I said.

There was a pause.

‘From where I’m standing, it looks like you don’t have much of a career left to destroy,’ Babs said. ‘When you’ve hit rock bottom, Amy, the only way left is up.’

‘I’m not doing
Big Brother
,’ I said.

‘Fine.’

‘And only major channels.’

‘Fine.’

‘And I get to choose which show.’

There was silence.

‘Babs, I get to choose.’

‘Fine,’ she said, grudgingly.

‘And minimal publicity,’ I said. ‘I’ll do what I have to do, but not too much. I’ve got to get away from all this.’

Babs made a huffing sound.

‘You can’t hide away,’ she said.

I wished I could, but I knew she was right really. I bit my lip.

‘I’ve got contacts everywhere – I’m sure we can get you into something,’ Babs went on, oblivious to my misgivings ‘Have a think and let me know what you want me to focus on. But do it soon. We need to strike while the iron’s hot.’

‘Okay,’ I said, suddenly feeling very tired. ‘I’ll have a think.’

‘Amy,’ Babs said. ‘It’s going to be okay, you know.’

I tried to smile but it was more of a grimace.

‘Yeah, we’ll see,’ I said. ‘We’ll see.’

Chapter Three

‘Was it awful?’ Phil said, giving me a sympathetic look as he adjusted the hat on a mannequin.

I flopped dramatically over the low table where he showcased his most exclusive designs to his poshest customers.

‘So awful,’ I said. ‘I can’t even tell you how bad.’

‘Don’t put fingermarks on that table,’ Phil warned.

I gave him a fierce look but sat up anyway.

Well, it’s done now,’ Phil said. ‘You’ve filmed your last scenes. Betsy is no more.’

He paused.

‘So who killed her then?

I shrugged.

‘Not a clue,’ I said. ‘It was just one of the props guys who dealt the fatal blow – they only filmed his hand. They’ll add in someone later, when they decide who the killer’s going to be.’

Phil made a face.

‘It’s not a great ending,’ he said. ‘Still, onwards and upwards.’

Phil’s relentless cheeriness was what had brought us together at school. I loved him because, like me, he was always up for a party, because he understood what made me tick, and because he adored me. And we all need a bit of adoration in our lives, right?

Our friendship had lasted through several boyfriends (his and mine), broken hearts (his and mine), career highs (his and mine) and career lows (mostly mine), and he’d obviously been the person I’d run to when the shit hit the fan with Matty. The only fly in the ointment was Phil’s boyfriend, Bertie, who thought I was a bad influence (he was probably right) and who had not been pleased to see me when Phil brought me home, hungover and tear-stained, after spending hours in a cell.

Now Phil gently lifted my arm and extracted a fabric swatch from beneath my elbow.

‘What happens now?’ he said. ‘Where does Amy Lavender go from here?’

Self-pity overwhelmed me again and my throat began to ache with the promise of more tears.

‘Oh, Phil,’ I said. ‘I don’t know. What am I going to do?’

He put his arm round me.

‘You’ll bounce back, sweetie,’ he said. ‘You always do.’

But that made me feel even worse.

‘Everyone dumps me,’ I said quietly. ‘‘Eventually, everyone gets fed up with me and they dump me.’

‘That’s not true,’ Phil said.

‘It is true.’ I sniffed and Phil thrust a tissue box in my direction.

‘Matty dumped me,’ I said. Phil opened his mouth, probably to tell me I was well shot of Matty – he’d never been a fan – but I gave him a look and he closed it again.

‘Tim dumped me from
Turpin Road
,’ I went on. A tear ran down my cheek. ‘Even my own mum, Phil. She dumped me.’

‘She didn’t dump you,’ Phil said, wiping my tear away with a folded tissue. ‘She just took a chance to make a better life for herself.’

‘In Spain,’ I pointed out. ‘Hundreds of miles away from me.’

‘You could have gone with her,’ Phil said. ‘She asked you to go.’

‘Only because she knew I wouldn’t,’ I said.

‘Have you spoken to her, since all this happened?’

‘God no,’ I said. ‘She’s only interested in me when things are going well. I bet she’s taken that photo of me down from the wall in her bar already. “My daughter the screw-up” isn’t half as impressive as “my daughter the soap star”.’

Phil chuckled, ruefully.

‘You’ve still got me, honey,’ he said. ‘You’ll always have me.’

I forced myself to smile at him.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘PhAmy for ever, right?’

‘Right,’ he said, kissing my nose.

But I wasn’t convinced. Phil had been my rock for years. My best friend, my support network, everything. But since he’d met Bertie I felt like I had to fight for his attention and I wasn’t sure I liked sharing him.’