LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘POLLY, I know you said you were fine, but I was passing anyway, and I thought I’d just drop in and—’ Shona did a double take and stopped short. ‘What happened to your hair?’

      ‘I cut it last night.’ With nail scissors. The long, straight blonde hair Harry had said he loved was no more. And at least getting rid of it had been Polly’s choice. Something that was under her control.

      ‘Cut? Hacked, more like. Has Fliss seen it?’

      ‘Um, no.’ And Polly knew her best friend would panic, remembering what Polly had done half a lifetime ago. Her lowest point, when she’d sworn that her life would be perfect from then on, no matter how hard she had to work at it. When she’d learned to smile her way through absolutely anything.

      Shona blew out a breath. ‘We need to get you to the hairdresser’s. Like now.’

      Polly waved a dismissive hand. ‘I’m fine. It’s not as if anyone’s going to see me. I don’t have to go in to the studio.’

      ‘That, sweetie, is where you’re wrong. Coffee, first,’ Shona said crisply. ‘And, while I’m making it, you need to get changed. The sort of stuff you wore for Monday Mash-up will be just fine.’

      ‘I don’t work on Monday Mash-up any more.’ Polly shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’m busy.’

      ‘Doing things that Harry really ought to be doing, since he was the one who called off the wedding,’ Shona said, her mouth thinning.

      ‘I’m the one who organised it, so it’s easier for me to do it. I have the contacts,’ Polly pointed out.

      She left unsaid what they were both thinking: it also meant that Grace wouldn’t be involved. Cancelling the wedding arrangements less than two weeks before the big day was tough enough; letting her ex-fiancé’s new girlfriend do it would be just too much to bear. And she knew that Harry would definitely delegate cancelling everything: he’d give that little-boy-lost look that always got him his own way.

      ‘I could strangle Harry, I really could. Selfish doesn’t even begin to—’ Shona stopped. ‘But you already know what I think. OK. Go and get changed while I sort the coffee and make that hair appointment. Oh, and put some stuff under your eyes.’

      To cover up the shadows Polly knew were there. It was one of the disadvantages of having fair skin; even one night without sleep meant she had dark shadows under her eyes. She hadn’t slept for several, since Harry had told her that he couldn’t marry her.

      ‘I do love you, Pol, but…’

      As he said the words, someone filled her veins with liquid nitrogen. Freezing her.

       But.

      That meant Harry didn’t love her at all.

      ‘… it’s as a friend. There just isn’t the kaboom,’ he finished.

      ‘Kaboom?’ She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. How was this happening? Was she in some parallel universe?

      ‘Kaboom. When you meet someone and it’s like the sky’s full of fireworks.’ He gestured wildly, mimicking starbursts in the sky. ‘A thousand red balloons floating into the sky.’

      She still didn’t have a clue what he meant. When she saw Harry, she didn’t see dangerous fireworks or balloons that could pop and leave her with nothing. She saw warm and safe and secure. And she’d been so sure he’d felt the same. That they’d be together for ever. That theirs would be one of the marriages people looked up to in showbiz—one that lasted, instead of being over almost as soon as the publicity photos had been printed. Because she and Harry were friends. They fitted. Polly wasn’t going to have the same kind of on-again, off-again relationship that her parents had, in between their affairs. This would be a proper marriage. Harry’s family liked her. His friends liked her. And her friends liked Harry and his easy charm.

      They were a couple.

      Except now it seemed that they weren’t. And her head couldn’t process it.

      ‘I’m sorry, Pol.’

      And then Harry told her about Grace.

      His new assistant, who’d made him feel the kaboom—the way Polly never had …

      Polly shook herself and changed into one of the bright long-sleeved T-shirts, jeans and trainers she’d worn on Monday Mash-up, then swiftly added enough make-up to erase the shadows and the pallor from her face. And then she pinned on her brightest smile, ready to face the world. By the time she’d finished, Shona had made them both a coffee and was speaking rapidly into the phone.

      ‘I’ve managed to get you in with Enrique in twenty minutes,’ she said. ‘I’ve told him it’s urgent. And we’ll take a taxi to make sure we get to the studio in time.’

      ‘Which studio?’ Polly asked. ‘And in time for what?’

      Shona shoved one of the mugs towards her. ‘Drink this. I put enough cold water in it so you can chug it straight down. I need you awake. Because, sweetie, you’re going to be on Ballroom Glitz. Starting tomorrow!’

      This was definitely a parallel universe. Polly had just walked out of a steady job, knowing that there was a recession on and she’d be lucky to find a waitressing job to tide her over until her agent managed to get her so much as an audition, let alone find something she’d enjoy as much as she’d loved her role as a children’s TV presenter. And now Shona was talking about a new contract on a new show? She couldn’t quite take it in.

      ‘Ballroom Glitz? Since when?’

      ‘Since I got a phone call from the producer an hour ago saying that someone had had to drop out and asking if I had anyone on my books who could fill the slot,’ Shona explained. ‘Obviously there are other people auditioning for it—but you’re going to be the one who gets it, Pol.’

      Polly appreciated the older woman’s faith in her—right now, her faith in herself was pretty shaky—but she knew it was misplaced. ‘Shona, I’ve got two left feet. Look at the mess I made of it when Danny tried to teach me those dance moves on the show.’

      Shona rolled her eyes. ‘Danny’s not as experienced in teaching as the guys on Ballroom Glitz are. And street dance isn’t the same as ballroom. You’re going to be great.’ She patted Polly’s shoulder. ‘And if you trip or make mistakes, so what? It shows you’re real. People will be able to identify with you, Polly.’

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