She didn’t suit me much either. I felt a sudden, overwhelming insignificance in the face of this perfect specimen of womanhood.
‘Are you here to audition?’ I asked.
‘Yes. Well, more a formality really. My hubby knows one of the organisers.’ She let out a tinkling laugh. I should’ve known she was a tinkler, you could tell from the cheekbones. ‘You feel sorry for the other girls, don’t you? But all’s fair in love and amateur dramatics.’
What organiser? All the organisers there were so far apart from me were Lana, Stew, Deano and Marcus, and none of them had mentioned anything.
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ she said. ‘Were you here for the part? They really should’ve told you so you didn’t need to waste your time.’
‘No, I – sorry, which organiser does your husband know?’
‘Stewart McLean. You heard of him? He’s a cyclist. Well, he was. He’s retired now.’
‘Stew? Er, yeah. How does he –’
‘Oh God,’ she hissed, grabbing my arm. I followed her gaze to a man with a handheld video camera making his way out of the hall. ‘You see what I have to put up with? This is what I was hiding from.’
‘Is that your husband?’ I asked, more confused than ever.
She tinkled again. ‘Him? I wouldn’t widdle on him if he’d been stung by a flock of jellyfish then set on fire.’ She turned to the man. ‘Honestly, Gavin, must you follow me round with that thing like a horny puppy? I’m not making gripping TV while you aren’t looking, cross my heart.’
‘Mr Brady says not to let you out of my sight,’ the man mumbled, training his camera on the pair of us.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she said to me. ‘Harper’s idea. He’s got us doing one of those “at home with” reality shows. Pain in the hole, but I figure he knows what he’s doing.’
‘Oh my God!’ I said, suddenly realising why she looked familiar. ‘You’re Maisie Moorhouse!’
‘Maisie Brady, lovely. Thought we’d go a bit tradish, you know? Good for the public image, Harper says.’
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t recognised her – although to be fair, I’d never seen her with all her clothes on before.
Maisie Moorhouse was a glamour model known for the ‘natural look’: no implants, in other words. She’d been the darling of the trashier tabloids but pretty Z-list generally until she’d married Harper Brady two months ago. Then there’d been a flurry of photoshoots, magazine spreads, and for a while she’d been everywhere, until the next celebrity couple had come along. Why she was auditioning for a part in some tiny village panto, I had no idea.
‘Excuse me. I need a word with someone.’ I nodded to Gavin. ‘Um, excuse me.’
Inside the Temp, I headed backstage. Lana, Stewart and a handsome, flaxen-haired man I recognised as TV’s Harper Brady were whispering ferociously together in a corner.
‘For God’s sake, Harper,’ Stewart was saying. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d be filming?’
‘What does it matter? I brought consent forms, and we can pixelate anyone who doesn’t want to be in it.’
‘You could’ve bloody said something! Bad enough you dragged Maisie along.’
‘Come on, Stew, don’t be a dick. Just let her audition.’
‘Can she act?’ Lana demanded.
Harper shrugged. ‘She’s got amazing legs.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘Well, she is a bit on the stiff side,’ he admitted. ‘But she’s learning.’
I cleared my throat.
‘Oh. Hi, Becks,’ Lana said. ‘Er, this is Harper.’
‘I’d gathered.’ I gave Harper a curt nod. ‘What the hell’s going on, you guys? I just had a conversation with Maisie Moorhouse that basically made it sound like she’d been guaranteed the lead role in our panto.’
Stewart glared at Harper. ‘You didn’t.’
Harper looked guilty. ‘I didn’t guarantee it, exactly. I just said you and Lana were involved so she had a good shot.’
‘If she can’t act, what can she do?’ I demanded. ‘Dance? Sing?’
‘She’s got amazing –’ Harper began.
‘– legs,’ I finished. ‘Yeah, we know.’
He shrugged. ‘Was going to say boobs that time.’
‘We know that too. Everyone knows, they’ve been on the covers of all the lads’ mags.’
‘Well, isn’t that enough? It’s only a village panto. Stick a pair of tights on, slap your thigh and look sexy. That’s all the principal boy has to do.’
‘Why are you so keen for her to audition?’ Stewart demanded. ‘This is the Egglethwaite panto, not the RSC.’
Harper lowered his voice. ‘It’s part of our plan. I’m helping her break into acting.’
‘And this is the best you could do?’ I said. ‘Bloody hell, your stock must’ve fallen a bit since the BAFTA.’
Harper drew himself up. ‘My stock is higher than – Knorr, I’ll have you know. Who the hell are you, anyway?’
‘I’m in charge.’ I glanced at Lana and Stew. ‘Um, am I?’
Lana nodded. ‘This panto was her idea,’ she told Harper. ‘And she’s my sister-in-law so be nice.’
‘Oh. Right,’ Harper said, regarding me with a modicum more respect. ‘Well, the problem is, Maisie’s got no experience. We thought this’d be a great in. Win for everyone, isn’t it? You lot get a sexy celeb for your panto, Mais gets Brownie points for helping out a local village hall once the reality show hits screens, and any talent scouts out there will see her acting.’
‘I thought you said she couldn’t act,’ I said.
‘Like I said, I’m working on it.’
Stew shook his head. ‘You’re using this to get yourself back in the papers, aren’t you? Post-wedding comedown now OK! aren’t constantly on the phone. You swore this marriage wasn’t another PR stunt, Harper.’
‘It isn’t, honestly! I love her. Really this time. Don’t you think if I wanted a fake wife I could’ve got someone a bit more high-profile?’
‘Then what’s this all about?’
‘It’s about Mais,’ Harper said. ‘I mean, not that I mind her getting her tits out for a living, I’m an enlightened guy. But they won’t stay firm forever. She’ll need something to fall back on when her figure goes.’
Lana rolled her eyes at me. ‘Harper Brady OBE, the nation’s sweetheart. Swoon, eh?’
‘And you think a reality show’s the start she needs?’ I asked Harper.
He shrugged. ‘Well, who was Kim Kardashian? Just a nice arse that got on telly. Trust me, Maisie’s got a great arse.’
‘We don’t need to trust you. We’ve seen it.’
Stewart groaned. ‘You’re not going to do a sex tape, are you? Because it’ll be me who has to break it to Mum and Dad when your backside’s on the front of The Sun again. The Sunday dinner after the pair of us got papped in that strip club was awkward enough.’
Lana raised her eyebrows. ‘You let him take you to a strip club?’
‘I was just picking him up, all right?’
‘Mmm. You’re all heart.’
‘We’ll save the sex tape for a last resort,’ Harper said, grinning. ‘Gav’d do that one for free.’
‘I bet,’ Stew muttered.
‘But I’ve got high hopes for The Brady Bunch – that’s what we’re calling the show. Especially with this panto plotline showcasing Maisie’s talents.’
‘This isn’t a plotline, mate, it’s our actual lives,’ Lana snapped. ‘We could lose our community centre.’
‘I know.’ He sighed. ‘Ok, fine. If I really have to… look, if you let Maisie play one of the leads, I’ll do you a cameo. Then you can put my name on the posters.’
‘You’re in a panto already, aren’t you?’ I said. ‘I thought you were playing Dick Whittington at
Bradford Alhambra.’
‘That was last season. I’m Aladdin in Leeds this Christmas.’
‘They’re still talking about Harper’s Dick in Bradford though,’ Stewart told me. ‘One to rival Barry Chuckle’s, apparently.’
Lana nodded soberly. ‘I’ve always said there’s no Dick quite like Harper.’
Harper glared at them. ‘All right, guys, enough with the dick jokes.’
Lana shrugged. ‘Just getting into the panto spirit.’
‘Look, do you lot want me in your sodding pantomime or not? I can do two, long as the dates don’t clash,’ Harper said. ‘You know my name’ll sell it. And Mais too, she’s a star in her own right. She’s been on ITV4.’
‘Oh, yeah. We’ve all been on bloody ITV4,’ Stewart muttered.
‘If she’s such a star, how come she’s not doing Aladdin with you?’ I demanded. ‘You must’ve put a word in.’
Harper looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, I did, but it’s kids, isn’t it? Snotty bastards organising it were a bit weird about what she does for a living.’
‘What makes you think we won’t be?’
‘Ah, little place like this, people’ll love it. She’s a celebrity, that’s all they care about.’
‘Hmm.’
‘She’s not exactly a porn star, is she? I bet Sam Fox never gets this shit.’
Stewart turned to us. ‘Ok, executive huddle, guys. Harper, bugger off over there.’
‘Ugh. Fine.’ Harper wandered off to give us some privacy.
‘He’s not wrong, reluctant as I am to admit it,’ Stewart said when his cousin was out of earshot. ‘We’d sell out with his name on the bill. And Maisie might not be Leeds material, but she’d be massive here.’
‘A Page Three girl though?’ I said. ‘We could get complaints.’
‘I’d tend to side with Harper,’ Lana said. ‘People care more about saying they’ve seen a celeb than what she’s famous for. And it’s like the innuendo, isn’t it? Kids won’t know who she is.’
‘Casting vote, Stew?’
He sighed. ‘Go on, let her audition. We do need to make money. A Page Three girl and a BAFTA winner go a long way towards making this an event. And you never know, she might actually be good.’ He turned to Lana. ‘When you tell Harper about this, make it sound like I was a really hard sell, will you?’
She squeezed his arm. ‘Don’t I always?’
‘Harper!’ Stew called.
His cousin swaggered over, looking smug.
‘Good news, Stew?’
‘You know it is. Go on, tell Maisie she’s first up to audition for principal boy. But she still has to properly audition, mind. Organiser decision is completely objective.’
Lana nodded. ‘Stew was a really hard sell. I only just convinced him not to chuck you both out on your arses.’
‘Argh, really? I mean, I knew you would, but –’ Harper gave Lana a hug, then punched Stew on the arm. ‘Thanks, guys. I’ll go tell her to change.’
I frowned. ‘What does he mean, change?’
Chapter 13
Lana was right, most of the crowd didn’t stick around after Harper had done his autograph-signing. By the time we were ready to start, there were about 25 left.
It took ages to get to the auditions. Once Harper had finished basking in the adulation of his fans, he had to get everyone present to sign consent forms for his bloody reality show, which he did with the nonchalance of a man who had all the time in the world. I was starting to see why Stew had said getting his cousin involved in village events was a double-edged sword.
Finally, the panel was seated ready to start. We were auditioning the two leads first, Jack and Jill, then the minor parts – giant’s henchmen, juvenile chorus and the two halves of the cow – and finally the other big parts of the Good Fairy, Dame Trott and Sleepy Steve.
I was sitting between Marcus and Deano, whose eyes were glittering with their familiar insane spark.
‘You’re looking forward to this, aren’t you?’ I muttered.
‘You kidding? This is going to be better than sex.’
‘Then you aren’t doing it right, mate.’
‘Hey,’ Marcus said, nudging me. ‘Brought you something.’
He handed me a little zipped pouch from his pocket.
‘What is it?’
He grinned. ‘My balls.’
‘Oh, right. Aren’t you using them?’
‘I always keep a spare set.’
I unzipped the case and examined the red-and-yellow juggling balls, nestled together like peas in motley.
‘Thanks, Marc. I’ll give them back when I get a set of my own.’
‘No, keep them. I’d hate to think I was depriving you of apples. You might get Juggler’s Scurvy.’ He shook his head. ‘Nasty way to go.’
Deano nudged me. ‘Shush, you two. We’re starting.’
I glanced up to see Cameraman Gavin installing himself on one side of the stage. Sure enough, a few seconds later Maisie emerged.
‘What the hell is that?’ I hissed to Deano.
‘Bloody hell,’ Billy muttered. ‘I don’t care what the others are like. This one gets my vote.’
‘Um, Maisie. What exactly are you wearing?’ Deano called out.
She glanced down at her costume. ‘It’s right, isn’t it? I thought this was the sort of thing people wore in pantomimes.’
‘Yeah, if they were getting costumes supplied by Ann Summers,’ I said.
Maisie was in the shortest, tightest silk tunic I’d ever seen, cut into a low v to expose her cleavage. She’d accompanied it with a pair of spike-heeled thigh-high boots in black PVC.
‘She looks good to me,’ Harper said, scanning the low-cut tunic appreciatively.
‘Why does that not surprise me?’ Stew muttered.
‘Sorry, Maisie, you can’t wear that, it’s too revealing. We’d have parents up in arms,’ Lana said. She paused. ‘Well, the mums, anyway. If you get the part, we’ll sort you out a proper Jack tunic.’
‘Spoilsport,’ Billy grumbled.
Deano went to join Maisie on stage and thrust a copy of the audition scene into her hands. ‘Ok, have a quick read of this then I’ll run through it with you.’
She took one look then handed it back. ‘Wrong part, honey.’
Deano glanced at it. ‘No it isn’t. Jack and Steve sell the cow.’
‘But where’re the girl’s lines?’
‘You’re auditioning for Jack, aren’t you?’
She laughed. ‘You want me to play a bloke? Why?’
‘Oh God.’ I dropped my head to the table. ‘She’s never seen a panto.’
‘Has she?’ Marcus asked Harper.
He looked embarrassed. ‘No. Her parents were dead religious. Didn’t believe in them.’
‘Can’t act, can’t sing, never seen a panto,’ I muttered to the table. ‘Why us, table? Why did she have to happen to us?’
‘It’s all right, babe,’ Harper called. ‘Girls always play the principal boys in panto.’
Maisie frowned. ‘But you’re playing principal boy in Aladdin.’
‘It’s different in the big ones, sometimes. Traditionally girls play the boys.’
‘Oh.’ She glanced down the script. ‘Can I be Steve then? He’s got better lines.’
‘No, Steve has to be played by a boy.’
‘But you said girls play the boys.’
I lifted my head, trying to keep my voice even. ‘Only some of them.’
‘So there aren’t any girls in the story?’
‘Three. But one of them has to be played by a man.’
She looked thoroughly confused now. ‘What about the other two? Are they played by girls?’
‘Yes. There’s the principal girl, Jill, and the Good Fairy.’
; ‘Oh, a fairy?’ Her eyes sparkled as she looked at her husband. ‘I’d love to be the fairy, Harper.’
‘The fairy’s part is taken,’ Yolanda announced stiffly. The curl of her lip suggested she wasn’t a fan of Maisie Moorhouse.
‘No it isn’t,’ Deano said. ‘But, er, in this village it is usually played by a more mature lady, Maisie.’
‘Ah, right.’ She smiled sweetly at Yolanda. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise. It’s all yours, honey. I don’t want the granny part.’
Yolanda’s cheeks were about the same shade of pink as her hair now. Billy laughed, then hastily turned it into a cough.
‘She’s trying out for Jack,’ Harper announced firmly. He raised his voice. ‘Honestly, Mais, it’s the best part. Principal boy gets all the sexiest outfits. And you want to play the lead, don’t you?’
‘Hmm. Suppose.’
‘Right,’ Deano said, looking relieved there was finally consensus. ‘Five minutes to read the lines, Maisie, then I’ll do Steve so you can show us your Jack.’
‘Ok, I’m ready,’ Maisie said after she’d scanned the script. ‘Oh, but can Harper be Steve? I’m used to practising with him.’
Deano let out a defeated sigh. ‘Whatever you like, kitten. Harper Brady, come on down.’
Harper went up on stage and took Deano’s script.
‘Hello, you,’ Maisie said, beaming at him.
‘Hello, you.’ Harper leaned forward so they could rub noses.
Deano pulled them apart. ‘Oi. You’re supposed to be brothers, for Christ’s sake.’
‘But we missed each other,’ Maisie said, pouting.
‘Don’t care. Get on with the audition and stop making me nauseous.’ He guided Harper to a respectable, brotherly distance. ‘Ok, Jack and Steve have been sent by their mother Dame Trott to sell the cow. Off you go.’
Harper cleared his throat. ‘Hey, Jacky Boy! I’ve just been offered an awesome deal. The man at the pet shop says we can swap old Daisy for a goldfish.’
‘That doesn’t sound like such a great deal, Harper… er, Steve,’ Maisie said in a stilted, quavering voice.
The Perfect Fit Page 10