Crystal Balls (35 page)

Simon stares out of the window, pretending not to listen.

I’ll show him how to conduct a business call.

“Christie,” Gerry continues as Simon looks at me mouthing, “
Christie?
” before sniggering quietly. “You’ll never believe it.”

“Don’t tell me they’ve pulled out?” My heart sinks.

“No, no!” he shrieks. “You got the part! You did it!”

“What?”

“
Stiffs
– you got the part you auditioned for. Even though you didn’t bother to tell me you were going to audition, you bad girl.”

“
No
!”

“Yes.”

“Gerry, this isn’t funny.” My voice shakes. “Stop winding me up!”

“I swear I’m not. Why would I do that to you? And with the budget this production has we’re expecting it to be big – massive, in fact – so all the more well done to
you.”

I don’t believe him. I really don’t. I’ve waited a decade to hear this kind of news and now that it has arrived I’m in denial. It can’t be true. I burst into tears.
The same degree of tears I shed when I was homeless – fast-flowing and uncontrollable – the same degree of tears I wept when I told my mother I could no longer fulfil her dream for me,
and the same degree of tears I wept every time I looked at the failure looking back at me for a long time after.

“I did it!” I burst out. “I actually did it – me!” I hear the words but they don’t ring true. “I made it! I made it!” I yell out loud, oblivious
to the rest of the universe. My nose starts to run but I don’t care. “Thank you, Gerry.” I find myself weeping with sheer elation. I’m intoxicated but numb at the same time.
Fuelled with energy but weak with total disbelief. Electrified and terrified in equal measures.

“Tina, pull over.”

Simon checks the inside lane before pushing the indicator down and gently taking the wheel, tilting it and veering us off the motorway on to the hard shoulder. “Brake,” he commands.
“Brake, Tina.” As the car skids to an abrupt halt a mass of grey powder rises. Dried-out earth rains down on the bonnet and light particles of dust stick to the windows. “Switch
the engine off.” He puts on the hazard lights and unbuckles his seatbelt, turning to face me.

I sense a softness in his approach, a quiet calmness in his eyes and he takes hold of my hand.

“I don’t know what just happened there but if you don’t mind I’d like to drive the rest of the way!”

A watery smile surfaces and I pull the keys out of the ignition, handing them over to him. I’m not safe to drive right now, not unless my eyes are fitted with a pair of optical wipers.

“I guess I should be congratulating you then, Tina.” He winks at me. “Or is it ‘Christie’? Although I’ll be damned if I know what I’m congratulating you
for!” His usual boisterous laughter is somehow quietened as he waits for me to reply. Can I tell him? Shall I tell him?
Hang on, he’s already heard the news loud and clear and
straight from the horse’s mouth.

I pull out a small packet of tissues kept in the car door and blow my nose loudly, not caring how unattractive I look right now. You know why? Because I’ve done it! I’ve achieved
what appeared for so long to be the unachievable and, by God, does it feel good!

For the first time in years I open up to someone. To Simon, exposing my inadequacies and my instability. Explaining my ongoing battle to truly believe I could be something other than what I was
born to be. Destined to be. Like an estate agent. Simon just listens intently. He says nothing – his eyes shower me with congratulatory affection yet his mouth remains motionless and
indifferent. He reaches out and touches my cheek, cupping it with his pen-pushing hand and a fresh tear escapes which he wipes away tenderly. Instinctively, I allow my face to sink deep into his
touch and close my eyes, melting in the safeness and security of him. And then I feel his lips on mine, gentle and beautiful and . . .
gone!

“I’m really proud of you, Tina.” He pulls back. “So very well done to you.” My hand is released from his grip. “I swear I’ll say nothing to no-one.
Cross my heart.” He crosses his chest dramatically and mimics his Scout’s-Honour salute.

“I was thrown out of the Girl Guides!” I tell him in truth, wiping the running make-up from beneath my eyes.

“For what? Burning the camp down!”

“Ha ha. I wouldn’t make a cup of tea to get a badge. I told them not to be so sexist and they asked me to leave. They said there was no place in the Girl Guides for a young
feminist.”

Simon snorts, throwing his head back, belting out rapturous laughter. “Good for you, Tina! So you’ve always been your own woman!”

Now that’s where you are wrong . . . but it is work in progress.

I stand back sheepishly to assess Sam’s body language and facial expression before making a decision on my next move. Ordinarily I would have sprinted towards her,
throwing myself against her, wrapping her in a great big sisterly hug. But today, needs must, and I tread cautiously. Hand in hand they walk, gazing at each other, all tanned and glowing. Who am I
to think that right now I’m even important in Sam’s life? I mean, look at her, she’s practically oozing with adoration for Tim. Who am I but her little sister who almost trashed
her wedding day? I doubt she’ll even notice I’m here.

“Hello, trouble.” Sam winks at me and releases her hold from Tim’s bronzed hand to embrace me.

He actually looks quite handsome with a tan. I glance at across at Simon’s sandy-coloured hair and fair skin and once again wonder where they got him from.

“Sam . . . I’m so so sorry. Again!” I start to cry with relief that she’s actually speaking to me. “I really don’t know what came over me.”

Sam squeezes me tight and then dishes me a sneaky dig in the arm. “I’m sure you had my best interests at heart, Tina. Besides, I’ve had a few weeks to get over it – with
plenty of distractions!”

I nod through watery eyes, oblivious to her innuendo.

“Come here, you fool.”

She hugs me again and I long to tell her my news but I know I can’t. Sam helped me with all the legalities of setting up Harding Homes and she too invested time and energy in aiding my
success and I’m not prepared to upset her again so soon. Besides, I’m simply getting this out of my system once and for all. No-one needs to know about it. It’s a bit of harmless
fun.

Pulling up outside Mum and Dad’s I shudder at the thought of Mum ever becoming ill. Not before I’ve made her proud, that is. We’ve clashed over the years but
as they say ‘
you only have one mother
’ and while mine is a little eccentric, I wouldn’t change a thing about her apart from her unusual fashion sense, her five-foot-long
fingernails, her extraordinary ability to expand the truth and her extraordinary inability to hold her own water (that is, hold her tongue).

“What’s bothering you, darling?” Mum sets the flowery printed mug on the mahogany table and looks at me. For a woman so modern in her approach to life, the house is still a sad
eighties throwback with a concoction of depressing furniture.

I shift uncomfortably on the leather sofa, plumping up the cushion behind me for distraction. “Nothing, Mum,” I lie. “I’m fine, thanks. Are you fine?”

“Yes, dear, I am, thank you.”

“Are you sure, Mum, because you would tell me, wouldn’t you?” I rattle.

“Tell you what?”

“If you weren’t fine.”

“I’ve just told you I am fine, darling.” My mother looks confused.

“I know that but if you weren’t, I mean.”

“But I am, dear.” My mother frowns, somewhat distracted. “Christie, don’t do that with the cushions, darling, they’re from Laura Ashley.”

She’s right. She’s perfectly well!

I pick up the receiver and leave another message for Brian. For some strange reason, he’s not returning my calls which in itself doesn’t worry me, but I do need to
speak to him about the Camberwell Road office. We’re close to completion for almost all the docklands apartments which has provided me the liquid cash to pay for the work outright and without
dipping into the reserves of the business account. The quote from Brian was incredibly reasonable and I half-wonder if he’s subsidising it and paying one of his men the balance as a
backhander. It’s small change to him, of course. The work is due to start next week and I’ve settled on a neutral colour theme in terms of the walls and ceilings with strong bold purple
uniforms, paired with lilac accessories. It definitely beats black and Chantelle as usual looks stunning in those colours, particularly with her sultry skin. The walls are to be decorated with a
mass of canvases in varying sizes and in earthy colours to create a relaxed homely feel and the hardwearing laminate floor will add a more clean and contemporary look. The two downstairs offices
are to be plastered and repainted and the doors will be replaced with panelled glass set in maple frames with chrome handles.

I think back to the day where Brian and I made it past first base – in fact, up against the only wall which is to be knocked down and, if I didn’t know better, I might think that its
demolition was a metaphor of our relationship. I feel a little frustrated at the time he’s taken to respond to me and actually feel that he should have apologised for leaving me so abruptly
like that. Okay, so I lied about the phone call. And so what if I lied about Hazel Topping or tried to teach him how to use the dowsing ring and read his palm for him and asked why no woman could
tame him, at which he looked a little confused?

“
A man in motion always seeking new challenges . . .
” I quoted to him, which he vehemently denied, but his reluctance was merely down to a playful coyness
.
I’m
sure about that. Still, every man likes a challenging woman and I’m sure he wouldn’t have me any other way. But there’s only one way to find out.

I dial the number before I can change my mind, my credit card poised for payment. And maybe the odd purchase.

“Hello, is this Spiritual Steve?”

I listen to the message again, trembling with excitement but bitter with disappointment that the filming schedule coincides with my holiday. I was so looking forward to
reliving some mad moments and will have to find a way to let Kate down gently.

‘By the way, Kate, you didn’t see me because I was hiding under the table but as it happens . . .’
or
‘I can’t get the time off work we’re so short
staffed . . .’
or
‘I have my lobotomy booked in for that week’?
I’ll also need to take a few more days than I’ve marked down on the holiday planner.
Now
what shall I say to Chantelle?
First things first.

“Gerry, it’s Tina.” I talk quietly to avoid being overheard. “I got it, thanks . . . all the dates are fine. I was wondering what local accommodation is available to save
me commuting every day?” What I really mean is that both work and my family will think I’m on holiday and of course won’t be expecting to see me. And so they won’t.
I’ll tell them when I have to but now is not the time. It only seems like yesterday that I was bailed out as my family rallied around to save me from the depths of despair and I had to suffer
a mother who couldn’t bear to tell her friends that I’d given up. But give up I never do. I just didn’t make it. “
She’s taking time out
,” she told them
all. A long time out. I guess if or rather when she does find out, she can hold her head up high again. There now, she wasn’t lying.

Gerry arranges to email me the script for
Stiffs
and a treatment for the series. I can’t believe I’m about to sign a contract for a series I know so little about and, in fact,
had Gerry not volunteered the information, I would have had no idea what the fee was.
Just turn up and give it your best.
That’s what I keep telling myself and for once I’m doing
it for the achievement, the satisfaction and for permanent closure. And not the permanent closure I once thought I had. A different permanent. A life-long one. After that it will be business as
usual.

“Kate, I am so sorry but I can’t get the time off work for this holiday of ours.” My voice is shaky and I feel so pathetically transparent. “It only
leaves Chantelle here and I can’t get any other cover for that week.”

Kate is gutted. “Maybe we could go away later on in the year?”

We agree to check our diaries for another week towards the end of the summer which really means that I need to fit in with Kate’s filming schedule, something I’m used to doing and
completely understand although I’m not sure she would understand fitting around mine.

I can’t quite get my head around the fact that I got the part but I was in the right place at the right time and there is a lot to be said for that.

“
Everything happens for a reason
,” she had said, the old dear at the Mind Body and Soul exhibition. The one I went to with Chantelle. The one I was embarrassed to be seen at.
How things have changed. It’s not that I’m a convert but I keep hoping, wishing, that the next reading will be
The Real One.
Something that tells me loud and clear where
I’m supposed to be, at what time and with whom, so I need only turn up and await instruction. And with every reading, I swear it will be the last one. But it never is.

I change the holiday chart on the back of the kitchen door and leave a note for Chantelle to advise of the few extra days, asking her to contact Heather to arrange additional manpower.

How easy was that? Kate thinks I’m working and Chantelle and my family think I’m on holiday.

Nice one, Tina, covered from all angles!

I hold my hair up as Sam stands behind me tying a knot in the black necklace. She straightens the pendant, flipping it around so it faces the right way. It sits perfectly at
the bottom of my neckline although it is tied a little too tight.
Should I be concerned?

I jump up, checking it out in the mirror.
What a weird-shaped little man!

“Thanks, Sam, it’s lovely.” Sam always brings gifts back from her holidays, as does my mother. Personally, I can’t see the fun in the exertion of hunting for presents
when you’re on holiday to get away from it all. It’s just added stress.