Amanda Roberts - Shimmer

Strictly SHIMMER

THE NOVEL BY

AMANDA ROBERTS

For all the Strictly fans out there.

Keep dancing, even if you don’t know

what the next step is!

Contents

Cover

Title Page Strictly SHIMMER THE NOVEL BY AMANDA ROBERTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Acknowledgements

Copyright

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Prologue

The first time I walked onto the dance floor, I had to pretend I wasn’t gawping. My eyes must have been spinning like disco balls as I tried to take it all in. I gripped the clipboard I had just been handed as tightly as I could, in the desperate hope that this might keep me calm. Chloe, my new colleague, walked straight across the dance floor as if it were nothing more than a studio, and I trotted along behind her, trying to keep my pulse rate – and my eyes – down.

Nothing could stop me from inhaling the atmosphere though. The springiness of the floor, the way that the audience chairs were all neatly fastened together to keep them in perfect straight lines, the sweeping staircases glistening, despite the relative darkness of the studio. But it was the smell that did it: the unmistakable theatrical smell that I had forgotten existed. It brought back memories of the school plays I’d taken part in as a kid. And here it was again. The set was drenched in it. I took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on what I was being told.

‘This is where you’ll stand during the show,’ Chloe said, pointing up at the only undecorated area on the set. I gasped. It was the least sparkly spot; in fact it was pretty much bare. Directly facing the staircase, it was the one angle that I had never seen on television. But it was unquestionably the one with the best view. And now it was my view. I grinned, then quickly composed myself, attempting to look as serious and efficient as possible.

‘I see,’ I replied, my brow faux-furrowed. I added a slow nod for emphasis.

Chloe was talking so fast she barely seemed to draw breath, and yet she seemed entirely calm. I knew that she had worked on the show for a couple of years, but I was mystified as to how she was so immune to the magic of it all. The headset she was wearing was the only real clue to her role – without it she could have been a visiting student. She was wearing a pair of baggy corduroy jeans, a V-neck T-shirt and a brightly coloured hooded top. With, of course, a pair of pink Converse trainers. Her face was entirely free from make-up and she had tied her fair hair back into a scruffy ponytail. She looked as if she might have once been capable of being a right laugh, but had been working too hard, taking everything a bit too seriously, for too long. I imagined she was only about thirty, but she had an ultra-responsible side to her, which would win out every time anyone suggested something as avant-garde as ‘having some fun’.

She was dressed as comfortably as someone who did most of their job on their feet needed to be, and yet she didn’t actually look that comfortable in her own skin. Mind you, nor was I. It had become apparent within moments of arriving that I was hopelessly over-dressed for the role of a production runner: a floral patterned tea dress, expensive tights and a pair of patent leather ballerinas. Overcompensating for my nerves had not resulted in a good look. My attempts to coordinate ‘showing respect for the job’ (by wearing a frock) with ‘practicality’ (by wearing flat shoes) had left me looking like I was Chloe’s boss, not the other way around. Chloe seemed unconcerned though. She had barely glanced at what I was wearing, so great was her devotion to her holy trio of clipboard, headphones and BlackBerry. She continued to fire facts and details at me like a tennis-ball machine. I was frantically scribbling down what I could when a voice from the other end of the stage bellowed, ‘Hello ladies! Fancy seeing you here …’

I turned round to see someone galloping down the stage stairs towards us. He too was dressed rather like a student: crumpled jeans, lumberjack boots and a faded dark grey sweatshirt. He had neat dark blond hair and was good-looking in a cuddly, soft-cheeked way.

‘Aha, here you are, Matt’ said Chloe as he approached.

He was gripping a polystyrene cup in his left hand and immediately extended his free hand towards me. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Matt. I’m going to be working alongside you this series.’

‘Yes, Matt is a fellow AP. Just been promoted to Assistant Producer.’

We shook hands.

‘Great, lovely to meet you,’ I replied. His hand was warm, and his eyes had a twinkle that made me think he wouldn’t be unwelcome in a boy band. He blew onto the steam coming off the top of the cup.

‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘Of the set?’

‘Of course the set! Not bad is it? Not bad …’

‘Not bad, it’s incredible!’ I replied, relieved to finally find someone I could express a smidgen of my excitement to. Matt grinned.

‘Yup, it’s pretty special. For what it is.’

Chloe was frowning down at her BlackBerry. She seemed to have forgotten we were there.

‘I can’t believe I’m actually here,’ I continued. ‘It seems so much smaller than on TV. But still so … magical.’

‘But have you seen the—?’ he stopped mid-sentence. ‘Hold on. Just wait there.’ Matt darted off between a row of gold audience chairs and disappeared behind the wooden walls of the set. I looked around awkwardly as Chloe tapped away at her BlackBerry.

‘LOOK UP!’ Matt’s voice boomed out from behind the walls. I did as I was told. Three huge disco balls were suspended from the ceiling, dwarfing the hundreds of TV lights that were also dangling from the metallic ropes above. Then, slowly, they began to turn. At first it was a little unnerving. The momentum that their slow turning generated made it seem as if it were the rest of the set that was moving, not them. The effect was magical. They were properly spinning now, casting their sparkly chinks of light across everything beneath them. Their movement made me imagine I was dancing myself, as I remembered all the nights I had got myself to sleep by pretending I was waltzing across a gleaming ballroom floor.

Then, just as suddenly, they stopped. I caught sight of Matt waving through a glass pane high above the stage, above the area I’d be standing in during the performances. He seemed to have gone up to the lighting gallery especially to put on this little show for me. With a quick smile he disappeared from view, then reappeared on the ballroom floor a minute later.

‘Just a little something I like to do for the newcomers.’ His twinkly eyes were even twinklier with mischief, and he gave me a little bow.