Rachel McIntyre - This Careless Life

‘Sure. Can you put this . . . there?’

‘Allow me,’ Duff said, leaping up to take the camera. Jez snorted softly and Liv bit back a tut. So predictable.

‘Thanks. And these two . . .’ The woman pointed first at the worktop of the (shiny, untouched) kitchen and then at the corner desk stacked with Liv’s (shiny, untouched) revision books. ‘There and there should do it. And camera number four. Let’s see . . .’ She scanned the room. ‘There.’

With a flash of irritation, Liv scooped the scattering of jewel-bright lip glosses, nail polishes and random earrings along the sideboard and into a drawer. What a total mess. She’d have to talk to Dad about . . . was it Martina or Marina? She couldn’t remember. Whatever the new cleaner’s name was, she was a joke.

Yesterday, Liv had caught her vacuuming around a pair of cerise Victoria’s Secret knickers in her bedroom. And when Liv suggested that maybe she could, you know, pick them up first? Martina/Marina had stared blankly at her with eyes ringed in glittery blue liner, then carried on.

Absolute joke.

‘Lens caps off and angled at the sofa, please,’ Cass continued. ‘Have a wiggle, check the tripod’s steady. Press the green button on the top. And don’t worry about not rehearsing, Hetty; spontaneity gives the best results. Makes the whole process more . . . honest.’

She placed her bag on the counter that divided the kitchen from the living space. The gold P chinked against the granite as Cass rifled through, pulling out first a mini laptop case and then a black gadget studded with tiny buttons. From her position by the door, Liv had a perfect view of the computer screen Cass was now adjusting to suit the light filtering in through the blinds.

‘Nearly there, guys. Duff, may I borrow you to check the angles?’

‘Sure, what do I need to do?’

‘Look pretty,’ Cass said, flicking her gaze between the sofa and the screen.

Liv’s eyes automatically followed, tracking across her friends. Jez’s watchful, relaxed expression giving nothing away, hands clasped in his lap.

Then Duff. Every inch of that six-foot-plus gym-toned, buffed and waxed body currently squeezed between Hetty and Jez radiated natural-born poser. Liv would not be at all surprised to learn that Mrs Duffy had an ultrasound image somewhere of foetal-stage Duff pouting like a pro.

Unlike acute photo-phobe Hetty who, even when she smiled, gave the impression she would rather be facing a machine gun than a lens. At the prom she had avoided the crush of the booth, ducked to the back for the group shots. And now, hugging a velvet cushion to her chest, she was playing the part of person most unlikely to audition for a TV show to perfection. Liv damped down a surge of exasperation. Hetty had promised she would go along with it.

‘Hets?’ she said in an undertone, miming dropping the cushion.

But if Cass noticed Hetty’s nerves, she didn’t seem bothered. One final tap on the keyboard and four LEDs blinked on; a red eye staring from each of the cameras placed around the room. Four Duffs materialised on the quartered screen, each fiddling with his phone from a slightly different angle.

‘Duff, can you say something so I can test the sound levels?’ Cass said, setting a microphone on the table.

‘Anything in particular you’d like me to say?’

A line spiked into jagged peaks in the top left of her screen.

‘That’ll do, thanks.’

She moved the microphone a few centimetres closer to the sofa and wagged a finger at Duff ’s phone.

‘Sorry, no devices. They interfere with the equipment. Disabled Wi-Fi or switched off, please.’

Duff swiped his thumb over the screen and placed it on the table. ‘No worries.’

Liv quickly slipped hers out of its case and touched the little aeroplane icon. Wi-Fi Off. When she looked back up, Jez’s domed forehead had loomed into shot. The light caught his glasses and the lenses flashed opaque white.

Lines zigzagged in the corner of the screen as he asked, ‘Do we need to sign anything? Contract? Disclaimer?’

Cass clicked her fingers and pointed her index finger at him. ‘Excellent question. Yes, I have paperwork. There’s always paperwork.’

She reached inside the Pandora, drawing out a document wallet containing a sheaf of A4 sheets attached to thin plastic clipboards, each with a printed label.

‘Here we are. Jeremiah . . . Henrietta . . . Olivia . . . Declan. These are the agreements you submitted with your initial applications. Legal tells me I have to read through the section marked “Audition” to make sure you know what you’re getting into.’

‘Sounds ominous,’ Liv said on her way to sit down. Then laughed to show she didn’t mean it.

She curled up next to Hetty, tucking her feet under her. Hetty grinned and flexed her eyebrows in a this-is-it! kind of way, which immediately made Liv feel like an evil bitch. But honestly, that sweatshirt! Liv had a photo of Hetty aged fourteen wearing the exact same garment on a school skiing trip. Which, in clothing years, made it older than the actual Pyrenees.

‘It’s just to make sure we’re all completely clear,’ Cass said.

Draping one arm along the leathery back of the sofa, Duff fanned himself with his copy. ‘No need. We trust you a hundred per cent, Cassandra.’

A lion on the scent of a zebra. That’s what he reminded Liv of. A lion too full of itself to realise this particular zebra was way, way out of its league.

‘That’s good to know but have a quick look to refamiliarise yourself,’ said Cass, her brown eyes trained on the laptop.

Jez curled his shoulder away from Duff ’s loosely dangling hand and studied the contract, one side, two sides before taking Hetty’s copy. He flapped his fingers, offering to do the same for Liv but she shook her head and pulled the contract to her chest.

Cass looked up expectantly. ‘Got a pen? Great. Any questions, fire away, otherwise please tick the boxes after each point.’

She began to read in a can’t-put-your-finger-on-it accent. Posh, yes, but with a hint of something under it. Something not entirely English?

‘I understand I am auditioning to take part in a vehicle for Pretty Vacant Productions with the working title: This Careless Life .

‘By agreeing to participate in the audition process, I confirm I am eighteen years of age.’

Tick.

‘I understand this audition will never be broadcast or made publicly available.’

Tick.

‘I give Pretty Vacant Productions permission to continue to obtain and research my online presence including accessing my social-media profiles.’

Tick.

‘I understand that participation could have a profound impact on my life and those around me.’

Tick.

Pause.

Bookcase. Kitchen. Sideboard. Desk.

‘One . . . two . . . three . . . four.’

Cass jabbed her pen at each camera in turn. ‘Audiences expect full disclosure, guys. In this job, festering skeletons have a nasty habit of tumbling out, sooner or later. And it will be much better for you if you’re transparent from the start. So think carefully now – is there anything you need to tell me?’

Duff spread his arms wide. ‘What you see is what you get with me. No skeletons, no secrets. Guaranteed.’

Cass laughed softly.

‘Everyone’s got secrets.’ Her deep brown eyes met Liv’s. ‘ Everyone. ’

Then she raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow a tiny fraction and panic jolted through Liv.

Wait. Did she know about –?

No.

No way.

It was impossible. Apart from herself, only two other people knew: Hetty (who would never blab) and him , and he’d been careful to the point of paranoia. No names on texts, separate SIM cards, no likes on each other’s posts . . . literally nothing to give away that they were anything more than vague friends of friends.