‘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.’
‘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.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ Phil asked again. ‘Can I help?’
‘Would you?’ I asked, flashing him my best, most beseeching smile.
‘What