Like I said, it can be a self-respect Bermuda Triangle. Consequently, I was calm to the point of off-hand when I met the first batch of celebs. Matt and I were on another one of our endless caffeine runs, when the show’s director asked us to go down to the studio floor and see if anyone else wanted drinks. We left the production gallery and wandered sheepishly onto the edge of the dance floor.
‘Hi guys,’ said Matt. His gait and his lolloping arms betrayed no shred of nerves as he approached those waiting to dance. A few of them were sitting on the golden audience chairs between the band area and the judges’ desk. Everyone was pretending not to be doing it, but they were all looking at each other, trying to size up the competition. These weren’t the confident gods and goddesses I was used to seeing on screen. These were real people, and they looked nervous. Flavia and Kristina were using the backs of a couple of chairs for some hamstring stretches. Despite the tension in the air, they looked fabulous, in tight leotards and stockings with gold high heels. I caught myself tugging at my own clothes, trying to make sure my imperfections weren’t on display anywhere near them. Meanwhile, one of the celebrities, an ex-footballer who I remember my dad worshipping all through my childhood, was standing at the edge of the floor, running through steps in his head and counting furiously under his breath.
‘Hey,’ said Flavia, looking up at Matt.
‘Can we get you any drinks? Water, tea, coffee, whatever?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please.’ She looked over her shoulder at the others. ‘Guys? Drinks?’
Moments later I was jotting down the list of drinks, while not – I repeat NOT – standing there slack-jawed saying, ‘But Flavia, you’re tiny, so petite and beautiful!’ or ‘Oh wow, Brett, you sooo don’t look as tall in real life as you do on that soap. What are the sets made of? Dolls’ houses?’
By the time I returned from the canteen with Matt, each of us laden with a wobbling tray, the band rehearsal was well underway. It was no longer just the celebrities and their dancers standing around – the band were now in position and rehearsing the music with the dancers for the first time.
It had genuinely never occurred to me how important the music was to the show until that moment. But when I put down my tray and looked up to see Kristina deep in conversation with Gnasher, urgently marking out the beats with her fist in her palm, I realised that the relationship between the band’s performance and the dancers’ was totally co-dependent. A duff note could mean a duff step, and vice versa.
In the meantime, Kristina’s partner, a gregarious musician who’d once had a reputation as a bad boy and was now beloved of housewives (including my mum) up and down the country, was clowning around with the others gathered at the side of the stage. Confidently performing faux-elaborate moves while adding a little human beat box to the amusement of the gathered crowd, he had everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. Suddenly, Kristina clapped her hands and summoned him to the dance floor.
This was going to be the first time I had seen any actual dancing, so I was desperate not to head off set straight away. Matt clearly noticed, as when I looked up, he said with an enormous sense of purpose, ‘Er, Amanda, please could you check for cups and bottles we need to take back and throw away? Thanks.’
I tried to smile in gratitude, but the minute he had finished saying it he looked away, picked up his tray, his face utterly deadpan. Kristina and her partner took to the stage, and the familiar voiceover began to play on set.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen! Please welcome to the dance floor …’
I didn’t listen to the rest, mesmerised as I was by Kristina’s last-minute stretches. She appeared to be entirely flat at one point. Oh, to be a proper dancer, I thought to myself, remembering the years I had spent making up ridiculous routines with Natalie when we’d been younger.
Suddenly, the music began and the dancers sprang into motion. Immediately everyone fell silent and watched, held by the now-electric atmosphere. The dance seemed so fast and so nimble. I forgot to maintain any pretence of clearing up cups. But, within moments, the spell was broken. The dancers, who had been so confident, had fluffed their steps and were standing, confused, turning towards the band. The ballroom floor seemed larger; the dancers significantly smaller. They returned to their starting positions again.
The nerves had got to everyone. I sensed I should make myself invisible again. I returned to collecting the empties and followed Matt off the studio floor.
‘Wow, wow, WOW!’ I whispered, as soon as I thought we’d be out of earshot. ‘I can’t believe how different it looks in real life! I wonder how the judges find anything to criticise half the time, but now it suddenly all makes sense. You can see everything, every breath, every wisp of hair …’
Matt chuckled. ‘Come on, Superfan,’ he said. There was a pause while both of us heard Chloe calling us on the talkback system.
‘Could you head back to the office please? We need you to collect the guest lists for tonight, thanks.’ Chloe’s voice sounded no warmer. I felt my nerves returning as the temporary shimmer of life on the dance floor quickly faded. As we headed towards the office, we passed a group of professional dancers congregated around a doorway, chatting. They looked anxious and surviving on exhilaration alone. I realised that however tired I was, they must have been up for hours longer than me, doing physical exercise, and the hardest part of their working day was still hours away. The thought made me want to yawn.
In the production office Chloe was printing out lists and spreadsheets with various colour-coded columns on them. It looked like an admin minefield and I sensed it was coming my way. I must have looked horrified because Matt said, ‘Don’t worry Amanda, it’s only paper. We are going to be The Door Police for a while, with the power to allow people into the magical world of Strictly.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it like that,’ replied Chloe. ‘But I’m afraid I will need you on various doors at various points this evening. Here’s the list. The different colour codes correspond to the seating areas and the status of the guests. Obviously the celeb partners are in the front row, so we can get shots of them …’
‘Heh heh, especially the ones who were competitors last year,’ interrupted Matt. My celeb gossip database immediately whirred into action as I quickly tried to work out who he was referring to. Chloe raised an eyebrow. There was a shadow of a smirk on her face. Perhaps she had a sense of humour lurking in there after all.
‘… anywaaaaay. Amanda, to clarify. Each of the audience members is on a different colour-coded list. They will be given a wristband corresponding to that list on arrival. This way we can avoid sneaky last-minute seat shuffling. The friends, family and key celebs are seated where we can get shots of them, but everyone else is divided pretty equally. It is simply too disruptive to have people swapping around at the last minute.’
She handed me the sheets of A4 and six bags, each filled with different coloured wristbands. She looked me straight in the eye.
‘Do not let anyone change their seats. These seats are allocated. Okay?’
‘Yes, Chloe,’ I replied. I felt as if I was being told off. I wasn’t though … was I?
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