Crystal Balls (41 page)

Then he looks at me and smiles. “A strange case for an even stranger girl,” he says.

“Surprise!”

I jerk backwards in total shock as a room full of familiar faces yells at me excitedly.
A party. For me?
I stand there completely mute and unable to move. I expected reactions of
hostility crossed with relief. I anticipated playing the role of dutiful daughter, sister and employer but I certainly didn’t expect to be greeted with such warmth and openness. I don’t
deserve it.

I’m grabbed, hugged, playfully strangled and generally mobbed by all the people I know and love and I can’t recall a single other moment in my life where I’ve felt so wanted
and so utterly forgiven. Don’t get me wrong – I’ve never been the type to have a chip on my shoulder, in fact far from it – it’s just that taking in the view of these
people, all here for me, tells me that life is about something other than my own personal satisfaction and my own thoughtless agenda. It’s about others and what they want and need in equal
measures and how I can be a part of that.

The humility was squeezed dry from me for a while and my head has been up my own arse, giving me blinkered vision and a bleak lack of direction, but suddenly it all makes sense. Watching my
family, Chantelle and Heather, Kate, Tim, and aunts, uncles and cousins not seen for far too long, the penny drops.
This is what it’s all about. Family. Happiness. Security. Openness.
It’s not about bagging the richest guy or having celebrity status, nor is it about regression, it’s about the simple things in life that come absolutely free.

I swing from Kate’s tiny frame and she embraces me with a full-on friendly snog before giving me a firm dig in the arm. “Knobhead!” she whispers in my ear. “I’ll
tell you what though, Tina, you must have done bloody well in that audition to get the part.” She mouths
‘bitch’
at me. “What spurred you on then, you big
looney?”

It’s the million-dollar question really. Do I tell her the truth that I took a whole host of cranks at face value and came up with my own rather creative agenda? Perhaps not.

“I had nothing to lose, Kate,” I tell her frankly. “I was in the right place at the right time and I guess in this instance there just was no pressure. Not like the old
days.”

This is partly right. I don’t bother explaining those voices in my head driving me to do it. Neither do I tell her of the ridiculous other events that occurred that weekend.
I saw you
but I actually hid! My man walked out on me . . . although it was after I ran out on him right in the throes of passion . . . did I tell you I nearly had a threesome with an old school friend? What
do you mean you don’t remember a Hazel Topping?

If it wasn’t so outstandingly bizarre it might actually be quite comical. The art classes, the kids from hell, a wedding boycott, a frightened lover – not that we ever got that far.
What was I thinking?

You weren’t, Tina. That’s just it.

The words of those ridiculous readings clung to me with fierce talons and much as I tried to shake them off, I couldn’t. They were stronger than me and so often I felt like I was in a
trance, under a powerful spell that needed something other than a bit of willpower to break. It never occurred to me that I could fight it, dismiss it, even laugh at it and at them. I lost my sense
of humour. Subconsciously, their words became my words and then my actions until I reached a point where I felt unable to make a simple decision without consulting one of them. I imagined the next
reading would be the right one, that I’d discover the truth and my future pathway would be revealed plain and simple. But it never happened like that. Every reading was filled with a vague
ambiguity and every indicative crossroads carried a blank sign and an arrow pointing to nowhere.

Kate’s posture straightens out as does her face. “I’m so sorry, Tina.” Her eyes are watery. “I spent too much time telling you to appreciate what you had that I
made it impossible for you to confide in me.” She shrugs her shoulders in admittance. “You should have been able to talk to me and tell me how you were feeling but instead I made myself
unapproachable.” She pauses. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you on about, Kate?” I’m taken aback by her uncharacteristic admission. “I’m the one who should be apologising to you! For not listening to your advice,
for lying to you, for hiding . . .”

“Hiding?”

“Erm, never mind about that – but your warnings, Kate, about the people, the hours, the phoneys were right and I’d forgotten it. Plus I could have wrecked your career with my
stupid actions.”

“True but if I’d been approachable enough for you to tell me about it, I could have warned you about that prick Raymond. I knew he’d got that role and I was quite relieved I
didn’t get my part so I wouldn’t have to be in the same room as him, to say nothing of simulating sex with him.”

I grimace at the mention of his name.

“The funny thing is,” Kate snorts, “I’ve never had so many offers coming in.”

“What?” My voice lifts an octave.

“I know, I can’t believe it.” She leans forward, whispering in my ear. “I’ve got a photo shoot lined up with
Just for Him
magazine next week and I
can’t believe what they’re paying me.”

She laughs her signature laugh, coarse and suggestive, and I’m consoled that she’s back in true Kate style.

“So you’ll be thanking me then for all that free publicity?” I tease.

“I think you’ve got your own publicity issues to worry about,” she replies gravely. “What was it, Tina, what was that thing that made you do it one more time?”

“I suppose I see you looking so glam and always on the telly, then you’re buying a docklands apartment and generally making it all look so simple that I . . .”

Kate stands as tall as she can get at five-feet nothing. “Simple? Are you crazy. I go for ten castings and am lucky if I get one job. I work fourteen-hour days and have to practically
starve myself to keep this body the way it is.” She takes my shoulders, gripping them hard. “Tell me you’re through with it now, Tina.”

I look down at her in my four-inch heels, biting my lip.
It’s time to open up to her.
“I wish I could, Kate.”
I wish I could.

But thank God I’ve got a saving grace. A clear-sighted lawyer helping me and doing something by the book for once. Something black and white and legitimate.

I can’t believe I’m back at work, sitting in the same leather chair I bought when I started out. I’ve missed it. I’ve also missed the nine-to-five
lifestyle – in fact, I’ve missed everything so much that I want to go around kissing it all.

My desk is clear and a huge bouquet of flowers is sitting pretty and smelling of a fresh, new day, thanks to my staff.

Much as I grabbed the odd conversation with Chantelle at the party, I didn’t feel it was the time or place to start grovelling, plus everything’s been so full-on that I needed the
weekend to consider a tactical but sincere approach. The truth is that I can’t survive without her. Yes, there are a dozen other managers I could employ who could perform the role suitably,
but to find someone with her integrity, her positive outlook on life and her amazing ability to instantaneously disarm people is not something you come across every day. I spent a lot of time
thinking about how invaluable she is to me and, depending on the outcome of future circumstances, I have a proposition to put to her.

My phone shrills with high-pitched urgency and I glance down to see that it’s Simon calling. I snatch it nervously, anxious to hear his progress on getting me out of this current mess
which once upon a time would have been referred to as a triumph.

“Hi, Simon.”

“Tina, meet me at the Hastings Hotel at three p.m. sharp and dress to impress,” Simon orders.

“Simon, you’re my lawyer,” I snap at him. “This is no time for a date.”

He exhales with exasperation. “Tina, just do it!”

The line is dead. The cheeky sod has cut me off. He’d better not make a pass at me or think I owe him one for rescuing me.

I look at the chrome wall clock. It’s past eleven now and by the time I go home to change and then drive into town for three . . . I reckon I’ll have to leave just after lunchtime.
The timing is abysmal.

I take each stair one by one, still a little apprehensive of Chantelle and conscious that we haven’t had a chance to discuss her employer-employee relationship. It was on our agenda for
this afternoon but that’s obviously been knocked on the head.

Chantelle puts the phone down and smiles at me warmly. She’s been pretty quiet today and in fact she was too at the party and, if I know her well enough, I’d say she’s biding
her time and waiting for the right moment to resign. She wouldn’t kick a girl when she’s down, this much I do know.

“I have to go out shortly, Chantelle. I’ll get back as quickly as I can though.”

Her position shifts and her body language becomes clearly defensive.

“Where are you going to?” Her voice is clipped but calm. “I thought we were going to talk this afternoon?” She looks tired.

What on earth do I tell her? Only Kate knows of the additional-episode balls-up and until Simon pulls out his lawyer finger I don’t see the point of communicating it to anyone else.

“I’m meeting Simon at the Hastings Hotel.” The truth feels good. It’s a weight off my heavy shoulders.

“For what?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly (well, technically so). “He told me to meet him there at three.”

She turns away from me so I can’t see her facial expression but I swear I can see her bottom lip quivering. “You told me you were over all that stuff, Tina.”

Her voice wobbles and I rush over to her, putting my arm around her shoulders but she shrugs me off.

“I am, I swear to God!” I’m upset that she doesn’t believe me but is it any bloody wonder?

“Well, then, tell me why it’s so important to that you have to cancel our chat about my possible resignation, Tina?” Her voice cracks and she bites her nails in an attempt to
distract herself from crying. “I thought you said I was indispensable?”

I decide to tell Chantelle of my whereabouts of the past few months. She of all people needed an explanation for my frequent Paul Daniels disappearing acts and lengthy phone calls and I know the
secret will go with her to the grave. “
I’ll always be there for you,” she told me. “Just be honest with me, that’s all I ask

As usual, she listens a lot and says very little.

“Chantelle, I didn’t mean to get into this tangle and now I only want to get out of it,” I finish up, practically begging her to believe me. “I swear on my
life.”

She throws me a look of utter disgust and jumps out of her seat, grabbing her coat from the back of the kitchen door.

“I’m sorry, Tina, but enough is enough,” she hiccups. “I’ve held the fort while you’ve done your invisible tricks and all the time I thought you were out on
appointments. I held it again while you were supposedly on holiday.” Mascara runs down her wet cheeks and a single drop spills onto her starched white shirt collar. “You got off the
hook while I stood there and took all the shit and now you have the audacity to tell me more lies.” With her coat thrown on, Chantelle grabs her bag. “I don’t care about picking
up the pieces, nor the mistakes,” she sniffs. “But I can’t work where there is no trust, Tina. And right now I can’t trust you so there is no solid ground for a continuing
relationship.”

She turns to leave but looks back at me with a wistful expression.

“Only a fool lies to themselves, Tina, and I never had you down as one of those. But I really don’t know who you are any more.”

My knees knock together as I watch her empty chair spinning with loneliness and the door chimes loudly, bidding her farewell.
Maybe it’s time to shut up shop, Tina.

I wobble up the steps of the Hastings Hotel, thankful for the automatic doors. I have a continuing problem with the revolving type. It does feel rather strange to be prancing
around in a fitted black dress and killer heels mid-afternoon, but I’m only following orders. The dress is not so fitted actually, what with a gruelling film schedule lasting a week and a
half and the projectile evacuation of my entire stomach contents, including its lining. I haven’t been this thin in years but I don’t feel good and for once that’s because I
don’t feel good on the inside. Everything is beginning to make perfect sense to me now and it’s like I’m a proper adult. For some reason I’ve matured more in the last week
than in my entire thirty-two years, but my heart is still heavy and burdened for what I put my family through and the sheer disdain on Chantelle’s beautiful face is haunting my
conscience.

Simon is waiting for me in the reception area and standing right next to him is Nick Hand.

I tremble with anticipation as I walk towards them, greeting the two of them shakily but trying hard to suppress it. Their facial expressions bear no indication of the outcome, assuming
they’ve reached one of course, nor do they even look in opposition to each other which they should have done because after all, what one wants, the other doesn’t.

Nick steps forward, kissing me on both cheeks in true Thespian style while Simon remains aloof and simply nods to me. I obediently follow them into a side conference room where a boardroom table
has been laid out with a dozen or so chairs surrounding it.

Simon pulls out a chair and I sit between him and Nick, feeling wildly intimidated and not knowing what to say or do.

“So, Tina, you’re unwilling to continue with the production?” Nick cuts to the chase.

“Well, erm . . .” He’s caught me by surprise. “It’s just that . . .”

Simon interrupts abruptly. “Nick is offering you a get-out clause, Tina.”

The hairs on my arms stand on end.
Oh God, please, please.

Nick thrusts a sheet of paper under my nose and clicks on the pen before handing it to me in poised position.

“Sign here, Tina, and you’re free to go.”

I grab the pen from him without any hesitation and scribble my name with absolute delight. Nick signs below me and Simon deftly retrieves the paper.