But.
That meant Harry didn’t love her at all.
‘… it’s as a friend. There just isn’t the kaboom,’ he finished.
‘Kaboom?’ She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. How was this happening? Was she in some parallel universe?
‘Kaboom. When you meet someone and it’s like the sky’s full of fireworks.’ He gestured wildly, mimicking starbursts in the sky. ‘A thousand red balloons floating into the sky.’
She still didn’t have a clue what he meant. When she saw Harry, she didn’t see dangerous fireworks or balloons that could pop and leave her with nothing. She saw warm and safe and secure. And she’d been so sure he’d felt the same. That they’d be together for ever. That theirs would be one of the marriages people looked up to in showbiz—one that lasted, instead of being over almost as soon as the publicity photos had been printed. Because she and Harry were friends. They fitted. Polly wasn’t going to have the same kind of on-again, off-again relationship that her parents had, in between their affairs. This would be a proper marriage. Harry’s family liked her. His friends liked her. And her friends liked Harry and his easy charm.
They were a couple.
Except now it seemed that they weren’t. And her head couldn’t process it.
‘I’m sorry, Pol.’
And then Harry told her about Grace.
His new assistant, who’d made him feel the kaboom—the way Polly never had …
Polly shook herself and changed into one of the bright long-sleeved T-shirts, jeans and trainers she’d worn on Monday Mash-up, then swiftly added enough make-up to erase the shadows and the pallor from her face. And then she pinned on her brightest smile, ready to face the world. By the time she’d finished, Shona had made them both a coffee and was speaking rapidly into the phone.
‘I’ve managed to get you in with Enrique in twenty minutes,’ she said. ‘I’ve told him it’s urgent. And we’ll take a taxi to make sure we get to the studio in time.’
‘Which studio?’ Polly asked. ‘And in time for what?’
Shona shoved one of the mugs towards her. ‘Drink this. I put enough cold water in it so you can chug it straight down. I need you awake. Because, sweetie, you’re going to be on Ballroom Glitz. Starting tomorrow!’
This was definitely a parallel universe. Polly had just walked out of a steady job, knowing that there was a recession on and she’d be lucky to find a waitressing job to tide her over until her agent managed to get her so much as an audition, let alone find something she’d enjoy as much as she’d loved her role as a children’s TV presenter. And now Shona was talking about a new contract on a new show? She couldn’t quite take it in.
‘Ballroom Glitz? Since when?’
‘Since I got a phone call from the producer an hour ago saying that someone had had to drop out and asking if I had anyone on my books who could fill the slot,’ Shona explained. ‘Obviously there are other people auditioning for it—but you’re going to be the one who gets it, Pol.’
Polly appreciated the older woman’s faith in her—right now, her faith in herself was pretty shaky—but she knew it was misplaced. ‘Shona, I’ve got two left feet. Look at the mess I made of it when Danny tried to teach me those dance moves on the show.’
Shona rolled her eyes. ‘Danny’s not as experienced in teaching as the guys on Ballroom Glitz are. And street dance isn’t the same as ballroom. You’re going to be great.’ She patted Polly’s shoulder. ‘And if you trip or make mistakes, so what? It shows you’re real. People will be able to identify with you, Polly.’
Polly couldn’t help smiling. ‘I’m hardly an A-lister, Shona. Monday Mash-up isn’t even on terrestrial telly. Nobody’s going to have a clue who I am.’
‘People like you. They identify with you, and Fliss would tell you the same.’
‘Fliss is my best friend. She’s supposed to say things like that.’
‘It’s still true,’ Shona said firmly. ‘That’s why the “Challenge Polly Anna” segment was so popular on Monday Mashup. You did the things people wanted to try doing themselves. And you didn’t always beat the challenge—so they knew it was true to life, not something set up with all the flaws airbrushed out. You’re going to learn to dance with one of the professionals, and every woman in the country, young or old, will be able to imagine themselves in your shoes. They’ll love your warmth and that amazing smile of yours. And that, sweetie, is exactly why you’re going to nail this audition and be on the show.’
‘What about the costumes?’ Polly asked quietly. ‘They let me have long sleeves on Monday Mash-up.’
‘They can do the same thing on Ballroom Glitz. If not long sleeves, then cuffs or fingerless elbow-length gloves,’ Shona reassured her. ‘Nobody needs to see your wrists and nobody’s going to ask questions. Don’t worry.’
Easier said than done. Polly dreaded the wardrobe department seeing her wrists and asking questions—or, worse, speculating. Especially if they thought the scars were because of Harry. Which they weren’t.
But being on the show could make a huge difference to her life. It’d mean eight whole weeks of work, if she managed to stay in the competition until the finals. Even if she was voted out at the first elimination, it still meant that she’d have two slots of prime-time exposure—slots that could lead to other opportunities. Plus dancing was something physical that might just tire her out enough to let her sleep in her new flat instead of lying awake and realising how wide the bed seemed without Harry in it, wondering where she’d gone so badly wrong and why she hadn’t been enough for him. And she’d have to concentrate on the training, so she wouldn’t have time to think about the wreck of her life.
Everything could be perfect again. Far, far away from the lowest point in her life all those years ago. The point that had led to her scars and the long, slow climb to the settled and happy life she’d wanted so badly.
Yeah. She could smile her way through this. Fake it until you make it.
‘I’ve always wanted to learn to dance,’ Polly said. She pushed away the memories of her five-year-old self begging for ballet lessons and her father’s sneered refusal. Fairy ballerina? Fairy elephant, more like. You’re too clumsy, Polly.
She lifted her chin. ‘We’ve got the lemons. Let’s go make lemonade. With a sparkly swizzle stick in it.’
Shona patted her shoulder. ‘Attagirl.’
Six hours later, Polly was back in her flat, making a list of the last few things she needed to cancel for the wedding and answering concerned emails from friends with the minimum of details. Even if she didn’t get the Ballroom Glitz job, at least she had great hair. Enrique had somehow managed to transform Polly’s appalling scissor-job into an urchin cut that made her look like a blonde Audrey Hepburn, all eyes. And in any case the audition had been good practice, reminding her of the skills she needed to brush up on for the future. Today had been a good day. And Polly Anna Adams had spent half a lifetime living up to her name. The tougher the going, the brighter her smile. She’d learned to look on the bright side and ignore the difficult stuff. And the strategy worked.
All the same, when the phone rang, she let it go through to the answering machine. She wasn’t in the mood for sympathy, no matter how well-meaning. Dwelling on things and crying about it wasn’t going to make Harry change his mind. Or make her feel better.
‘Sweetie, I know you’re there. Pick up,’ Shona said.
Polly didn’t.
There was a sigh. ‘All right, do it your way. But I’ll