Stephen Leather: Take Two

‘My job is to let actors tell a story,’ said Harrington. ‘The paparazzi are more like peeping toms, sticking their noses where they’re not wanted.’

Carolyn gestured at the banner, where another actress was being photographed. ‘That’s not paparazzi,’ she said. ‘That’s part of the game. You come to somewhere like this and you get photographed and the photographs go out to the papers and the magazines. The magazine sells, my profile is raised and Stella McCartney gets free publicity. Everyone wins.’

‘Well, it would do my head in. I prefer the fact the girl back there didn’t know me from Adam.’

They stopped at the entrance to the ballroom. A large seating plan had been set up on an easel and it was flanked by two pretty blondes. There were twenty-five circular tables each seating sixteen. The tables were identified with the name of the various shows and production companies. The tables closest to the main stage were taken by the BBC, ITV, Channel 4 and Sky. Behind them were the tables of Coronation Street, EastEnders, Doctors, Holby City and the rest of the popular soaps. The Rags To Riches table was off to the right, closest to the kitchen. Carolyn frowned as she studied the seating plan. Hands seized her by the shoulder. ‘How’s my favourite actress?’ asked Paul Day, looming over her.

‘Wondering why all these reality shows are here,’ she said, pointing at a table marked The Only Way Is Essex and another labeled Made In Chelsea. ‘Since when are reality shows classed as drama?’

‘They’ve a new category this year,’ said the producer. ‘Reality and Constructed Factual.’

‘What the hell is Reality and Constructed Factual?’ asked Carolyn.

‘The future of entertainment, darling,’ said Day. ‘You take suntanned bimbos in tight dresses and you give them lines to shout and wine to drink. Costs next to nothing to make and the punters love it.’ He released his grip on her shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s grab our seats.’

Day, Carolyn and Harrington walked into the ballroom. There were huge posters on the walls, blown-up photographs of the shows that had been nominated, and at the back of the room a stage with two podiums and, behind them, a large viewing screen.

Carolyn had to walk by the Coronation Street and EastEnders tables and she had to air-kiss at least a dozen people. She knew most of the actors though there were a few younger cast members she hadn’t met before. Most knew she was being given a lifetime achievement award and wanted to congratulate her. It was the only award that had been announced in advance.

Seb and Andrea were already at the Rags To Riches table, along with Phillippa Lansdale, the director who was due to take over after Harrington’s episodes had wrapped. Carolyn had worked with Phillippa before and liked the woman. She was in her early thirties, anorexically thin and, like Carolyn, a confirmed smoker. She stood up and hugged Carolyn. ‘So we’re working together week after next,’ she said, brushing her dyed blonde hair over one ear.

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ said Carolyn. Day gave Phillippa a bear hug and then sat down, facing the stage. Carolyn sat next to him. Seb was sitting next to a pneumatic blonde model with vacant eyes, one of half a dozen that he used whenever he needed to prove to the world that he was a red-blooded heterosexual male. Carolyn had met her before but couldn’t quite remember her name — Mandy, or Sandy, or Candy or something similar. She had red-painted fingernails that were at least an inch long and lips that had clearly been pumped full of collagen. Andrea was sitting next to her long-time boyfriend, Charlie Russell, a good-looking Scot who managed his family’s multi-million pound trust. He was devoted to Andrea and always had a lop-sided grin on his face when he was around her.

They were joined by three more actors from the show — Fatima Dowling, Mo Julyan and Barry Hinton — as the ballroom began to fill up. Across the room, Carolyn saw the network executives take their places. Day waved over at Sally Westlake, the head of drama, and she blew him a kiss.

‘So where’s Eddie?’ asked Phillippa.

‘It’s not his thing,’ said Carolyn. She didn’t want it generally known that the relationship was in trouble. In fact, in her heart of hearts she hoped he would call her and apologise because the one thing she wanted most in the world just then was to have him back in her life. She missed him. She missed him a lot. And while the pain of his infidelity still burned, she was starting to feel she was partly to blame. She had been working stupidly-long hours for several months and hadn’t spent enough time with him. A waiter appeared and began pouring champagne. ‘Besides, with Eddie here I’d have to watch how much I drink.’ She waved at the waiter and mouthed ‘red wine.’ He nodded.

The head writer on the show, Zach Atkins, arrived in a white jacket and a black Mickey Mouse bow-tie. With him were two more writers — both earnest young men in their late twenties. They sat together next to Phillippa. Carolyn smiled over at Zach and he smiled back, but he looked away quickly and was soon deep in conversation with the director.

The room filled up over the next twenty minutes and then the meal was served. The food was excellent, way above what was normally served at an award ceremony, brought to the table by fit young men who looked as if they had just walked out of a fashion magazine. The starter was baked scallops, the main course was an apple and cranberry stuffed pork roast and the dessert was vanilla cheesecake with Scottish raspberries. There was a vegetarian option but as Carolyn was an enthusiastic meat-eater she didn’t even look at it. It turned out that alcohol had to be paid for but Day made sure plenty of wine ended up on their table.

When the coffee arrived, the lights dimmed and Ricky Gervais and Dawn French walked out to thunderous applause. The next hour was spent with the two presenters bantering back and forth and a succession of actors, writers and directors making their way up to the stage to be presented with a gold statuette. Gold coloured, anyway. Carolyn had two Soap Digest Best Actress awards in her downstairs bathroom and the gold had long worn away even though the cleaner only dusted them twice a week.

The first award was for Sexiest Female, won by a Hollyoaks actress, and a young hunk on Emmerdale won the award for Sexiest Male. Two photographers snapped away while four camera teams moved around the audience, shooting reaction shots. Carolyn, like the rest of the actors, smiled professionally when there was even a chance they would be caught on film.

‘What is he, twelve?” asked Seb, nodding at the Emmerdale actor, who was posing next to Dawn French as the photographers snapped away.

‘He’s fit,’ said Carolyn.

‘He’s a male model, not an actor,’ sneered Seb.

‘You’re just upset because he’s not gay,’ whispered Carolyn.

‘Bitch,’ said Seb.

‘And he didn’t get his award for his acting, he got it for his chiseled good looks and six-pack abs.’

The next award was for Best Scripted Reality Show. Carolyn looked over at Day. ‘What?’

The producer shrugged. ‘It’s the new big thing, darling.’

‘So now we’re doing away with sets and studios? Why don’t we just film in our own homes? They’re not bloody actors, Paul.’

‘You’re preaching to the converted, darling,’ said Day, leaning over to refill her glass.

The comedian read out the list of contenders, adding — ‘These are my favourite shows on TV. Fit birds, am I right?’

The table where The Only Way Is Essex actors were sitting went wild, shouting and cheering. They were followed a few seconds later by whooping from the Made In Chelsea table.