“Wait! Aran.” I lower my voice and glance toward the kitchen. “If you were going to give me some advice on how to play it today … what would it be?”
“Hold on a moment,” says Aran into the phone, and comes back toward me. “I’m not advising you officially, you understand, Becky.” He also glances toward the kitchen.
“I understand,” I practically whisper.
“But if I had a client in your situation who wished to make the most of her exposure, I’d advise her to be seen. Get out there. Don’t say anything. Stay dignified, pleasant, going about your daily business. But be seen. Be photographed. And think about what you wear,” he adds. “Be casual but cool. Make your outfit a talking point.”
“OK,” I say breathlessly. “Thanks.”
While Aran takes his call, I head to the window on the stairs again and peep out. There are more press gathered outside the gates. Waiting for me. I’m hot! Aran’s words keep going round my head. I mean, he’s right. All this time I’ve been trying to make it in Hollywood, and now here’s a golden opportunity, right in my lap, and if I don’t take advantage of it I may never have the chance again.…
“Becky?”
Luke’s voice makes me jump. “Made you that cup of coffee.”
“Thanks,” I say, and smile nervously at him as I take it. “This is all a bit weird, isn’t it?” I gesture to the crowd of journalists.
“Don’t worry. It’ll all die down.” Luke gives me a quick hug. “Why don’t you and Minnie and the others watch movies in the basement? Then you don’t even have to see them.”
“Right,” I say after a pause. “Yes. We could do that.” I glance out of the window again. I can see a camera with NBC on it. NBC!
My mobile rings yet again, and I pull it out, expecting to see Unknown Number. I’ve already had about six journalists leaving messages on the phone today; God knows where they got my number from—
But it’s not a journalist, it’s Mum.
“It’s Mum!” I exclaim as Luke walks away to take another call. “At last! Hi, Mum. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all night! Where are you?”
“I’m in the car! I told you about our mini-break with Janice and Martin, didn’t I? The Lake District. No signal. But lovely views, although the hotel was a little chilly. We had to ask for extra blankets, but they couldn’t have been more charming about it—”
“Right.” I try to get a word in. “Er, Mum, something’s happened—”
“I know!” says Mum triumphantly. “We’d just got on to the M1 when I had a call from someone at the Daily World. She asked, ‘Do you know your daughter has been causing a sensation in Hollywood?’ Well! I said I had no idea but it didn’t surprise me. I always knew you’d be a sensation. Janice has just found a picture of you on her smartphone. We’ve all had a look. Lovely frock. Where did you get that, love?”
“Mum, you didn’t talk to them, did you? Only Luke says not to speak to the press. Just ring off.”
“I wasn’t going to ring off!” says Mum indignantly. “I wanted to hear all about it, for a start. Such a pleasant girl. She gave me every detail.”
“How long did you talk for?”
“Ooh, I’d say … How long was I on the phone, Janice? About forty minutes?”
“Forty minutes?” I echo, aghast.
There’s Luke saying, “Don’t speak to the press,” and even Aran advising me, “Don’t say anything,” and now Mum has given an in-depth interview to the Daily World.
“Well, don’t say any more!” I instruct her. “Not till you speak to Luke anyway.”
“She wanted to know if you’d ever shoplifted yourself,” says Mum. “The idea! I said absolutely never, unless you count the time you came home from Hamleys with six pairs of dollies’ shoes in your pockets. But you were only three, bless you. We sent them back in an envelope, remember?”
“You didn’t tell her that!” I wail. God knows what they’ll write now. “Mum, can I speak to Dad? Is he driving?”
“No, Martin’s doing this stretch. I’ll put you on.”
There’s a scuffling noise, then I hear my father’s voice, deep and reassuring.
“How’s my little Becky? Plunged into another kerfuffle, I see! Are the media stationed outside your house as we speak?”
“Pretty much.”
“Ah. Well, you know the only thing worse than being talked about, don’t you?”
“Not being talked about,” I answer, with a smile. Dad always has some little saying for each occasion.
“If you need us to fly over and give you our support, I’m sure your mother will be only too happy to buy a new outfit for the occasion.”
“Dad!” I can’t help laughing.
“Seriously, Becky.” His voice changes. “Are you all right? And Minnie?”
“We’re fine.”
“Because we will come, if you need us. The next flight we can.”
“I know,” I say, touched. “Don’t worry, Dad. But can you stop Mum talking to the press?”
“I’ll do my best,” he says. “Now, apart from foiling shoplifters and becoming a global media sensation, is life all right in Hollywood? Sun not too warm? Sky not too blue?”
“It’s all fine.” I laugh again.