Kate O’Mara - Good Time Girl

Suddenly she remembered an old holdall in the broom cupboard in the passage. She was sure she had kept some of her old clothes there. She all but ran out of the kitchen, wrenched the cupboard door open and dragged out the case, unzipped it – and yes, it was bulging with garments. Thinking she could use them when she next decorated, she’d never thrown them out. They were mainly jeans, trousers and tops. She exclaimed with delight as she unearthed some much-loved jungle-green army fatigues. She bundled the rest back into the case and carried it lovingly into the bedroom. The kettle was boiling and she ran to make the tea, then hurried back to the bedroom and took out the fatigues. Admittedly they smelt a bit strange, but that couldn’t be helped. She’d give them a good wash that night.

She tore off her blouse and ankle-length skirt, stepped into the all-in-one outfit and zipped up the front. It still fitted well. If anything it was a touch large; of course, she had lost weight recently. It needed a belt – well, at least she still had those. On a shelf in a cupboard she found her favourite. It was very wide, brown shaped leather and she fastened it around her waist with mounting excitement. Shoes – of course, trainers – she used those for rehearsals. She dug them out of the back of the wardrobe and rammed them on her feet. Then, picking up the rest of the clothes from the bed, she strode confidently back into the kitchen, opened the door of the washing machine and chucked them all in. Washing powder and softener followed, then she slammed the door and clicked the controls. She poured a large breakfast cup of tea and wandered into the sitting room. Then, and then only, did she allow herself a good look at her reflection.

To her delight and surprise Claire saw a girl she had once known smiling back at her. She all but whooped with joy. Could it be that she actually felt happy? That the awful weight of misery that she had been dragging around with her for months was beginning to lighten? The anguish of the last two weeks had been insupportable and she knew it would be a long time before that diminished. But this was the start. She surveyed herself from all angles, then sat down on the sofa to sip her tea. Perhaps some music? No, no, not music, not yet. Music stirred the emotions. No, she mustn’t overreach herself. One step at a time. Practical progress first. The door bell rang. Again her heart leapt. This was ridiculous. She must learn to control herself. She put the cup down on the glass coffee table and went to the front door.

‘Hello, darling. I’m a bit early. Does it matter?’ Sally stood in the doorway laden with carrier bags and clothes slung over her arm. ‘My God! Have I come to the wrong flat?’ she exclaimed in amazement as she took in Claire’s appearance.

Claire laughed. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Like it?’ cried Sally, dropping her burdens and hugging her. ‘Oh, darling, welcome back!’

‘Have I really changed that much?’ asked Claire, extricating herself.

Sally stood back and surveyed her. ‘This is the girl I knew four years ago. You look stunning!’

Claire smiled back at her. ‘I think I’m going to get better, Sal,’ she said evenly.

‘I know you are,’ Sally replied with conviction. ‘You look heaps better already, though admittedly you smell a little funny, sort of mildewy! Nothing that a drop of scent won’t put right.’

Claire giggled. ‘I’ll go and get some.’

Sally stopped her. ‘No, darling, new man, new scent,’ she said firmly.

‘But I haven’t got a new man,’ protested Claire laughingly.

‘Looking like that, you soon will have,’ said Sally. ‘Yep, new job, new man, I’m absolutely convinced of it.’

‘Yes,’ said Claire doubtfully, ‘but I’ve got to get the job first.’

‘And so you shall!’ said her friend with determination. ‘See what I’ve brought you!’ And she rescued the clothes from the floor where they had fallen.

‘But, Sal,’ protested Claire, as Sally held up a superb-looking garment, ‘this is your new Italian suit!’

‘That’s right,’ responded Sally gaily. ‘It’s perfect, isn’t it?’ And she held it up against Claire. ‘This’ll get you the job!’

She had class. Of that there was no doubt. She looked good, was in fact stunning. High cheekbones, slanting grey eyes, dark reddish brown hair and a flawless complexion. Hugh noted it all. The impeccably cut slate-grey suit. The moss agate earrings and matching ring, the dark green of which was picked up in a long narrow silk scarf hung loosely around her neck. The shoes and handbag of matching grey suede. The hair piled on top of her head. Hugh felt a surge of excitement. He had found Sara Harper.

‘Excuse me a moment will you, Ms Jenner?’ He rose from his seat. ‘Oh, would you care to take a look at the script?’ he added. ‘I’m just popping down the corridor.’

‘Thank you, yes, I’d love to.’

He seemed to be in a hurry, Claire thought. As soon as he had gone, she picked up the wodge of type-covered paper that he had placed in front of her. The pages were held together at the top with a single clip. ‘ The McMasters. Episode 10’, it said on the front page, followed by a list of the producers, assistants and various other administrative personnel. She flicked through the pages, trying to find her character. She already thought of it as ‘hers’. She had an idea that Hugh was impressed. He had seemed agitated. She noticed that she often had this effect on men. Ah, here it was.

Int. Sara’s office.

A tall blonde woman is perched on the edge of a desk. She is speaking on the telephone. She swings a shapely leg as she talks.

Claire smiled to herself. This was right up her street. She had to have this part. The door opened and Hugh reappeared with another man in tow, older, bald, benign-looking.

‘Ah, Ms Jenner, you’re still here,’ he sounded relieved.

As if I’d think of going anywhere with a part like this hanging in the balance, thought Claire.

‘This is Claire Jenner, Martin,’ said Hugh. ‘Ms Jenner, this is our producer, Martin Roberts.’

‘I’m so pleased to meet you,’ said Claire, rising to shake hands. Martin nodded and smiled shyly, shook her hand vigorously but did not speak. They both seemed uncertain of what to say next.

Then, seeing the script, Hugh had an inspiration. ‘So, what did you think of Episode – er – Ten – is it? Yes, Episode Ten.’

‘I’ve only just glanced at it,’ replied Claire, wondering how on earth he supposed she’d had time to read it in the few minutes it had taken him to fetch Martin.

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Hugh replied. ‘Did you manage to find our Sara?’ He spoke of the character as though she were a personal friend.