Rebecca Bloomwood
c/o William Green Recruitment
39 Farringdon Square
London EC4 7TD
27 March 2000
Hyvi Rebecca Bloomwood
Oli erittiin hauska tavata teidit viime viikolla, vaikka tapaaminen jiikin lyhyeksi. Olitte selvisti hermostunut, miki on aivan ymmirrettivai. Siiti huolimatta mini ja kollegani ihailimme tavalli suudesta poikkeavaa luonteenlaatuanne. Olemme varmoja, etti tgisti olisi yhtiall emme paljon hyatyi, ja mielellimme tapaisimme teidit uudestaan, ehki lounaan merkeissi.
Haluaisin onnitella teiti suurenmoisesta artikkelis tanne Daily World -lehdessi. Olette selvisti taitava ilmaisemaan ajatuksianne, ja on suuri ilo piisti pian keskustelemaan kanssanne iidinkielel lini. Toivoisin etta ottaisitte minuun yhteytta ylli mainitulla osoitteella.
Parhain terveisin
Ystivillisesti
Jan Virtanen
Nineteen
The car to take me to the television studios arrives promptly at 7.30 the next morning. As the doorbell rings, Mum, Dad and I all jump, even though we've been waiting in a tense silence for ten minutes.
'Well,' says Dad gruffly, glancing at his watch. 'They're here, anyway.'
Ever since I told him about the arrangements yesterday, Dad's been predicting that the car won't turn up and that he'll have to drive me to the studios himself. He even worked out a route last night, and phoned up Uncle Malcolm as a standby. (To be honest, I think he was quite looking forward to it.)
'Oh Becky,' says Mum in a trembling voice. 'Good luck, darling.' She looks at me, then shakes her head.
'Our little Becky, on television. I can't believe it.'
I start to get up, but Dad puts out a restraining arm.
'Now before you answer the door, Becky,' he says. You are sure, aren't you? About the risk you're taking.'
He glances at Mum, who bites her lip.
'I'll be fine!' I say, trying to sound as soothing as possible. 'Honestly, Dad, we've been over it all.'
Last night, it suddenly occurred to Dad that if I went on the telly, my stalker would know where I was. At first he was adamant I'd have to call the whole thing off – and it took an awful lot of persuasion to convince him and Mum I'd be perfectly safe in the TV studios.
They were even talking about hiring a bodyguard, can you believe it? I mean, what on earth would I look like, turning up with a bodyguard?
Actually, I'd look pretty cool and mysterious, wouldn't I? Damn. That might have been quite a good idea.
The doorbell rings again and I leap to my feet.
'Well,' says Dad. 'You just be careful.'
'I will, don't worry!' I say, picking up my bag. I walk to the door calmly, trying not to give away how excited I feel. But inside I feel as light as a bubble.
I just can't believe how well everything's going. Not only am I going to be on the telly – but everyone's being so nice to me! Yesterday I had several phone conversations with an assistant producer of Morning Coffee, who's a really sweet girl called Zelda. We went over exactly what I was going to say on the programme, then she fixed up for a car to come and pick me up – and when I told her I was at my parents' house with none of my clothes handy, she thought for a bit, then said I could choose something to wear from the wardrobe. I mean, how cool is that? Choosing any outfit I like from the wardrobe! I expect they'll let me keep it afterwards, too.
As I open the front door, my stomach gives an excited leap. There, waiting in the drive, is a portly, middle-aged man in a blue blazer and cap, standing next to a shiny saloon car. My own private chauffeur!
This just gets better and better.
'Miss Bloomwood?' says the driver.
'Yes,' I say, unable to stop myself grinning at him in delight. I'm about to reach for the door handle – but he gets there before me, opens the car door with a flourish and stands to attention, waiting for me to get in. God, this is like being a film star or something!
I glance back towards the house and see Mum and Dad standing on the front step, both looking utterly gobsmacked.
'Well – bye then!' I say, trying to sound casual, as though I always ride around in a chauffeur-driven car.
'See you later!'
'Becky, is that you?' comes a voice from next door, and Janice appears on the other side of the hedge in her dressing gown. Her eyes grow large as they take in the car and she glances at Mum, who raises her shoulders, as though to say, 'I know, isn't it unbelievable?'
'Morning, Janice,' says Dad.
'Morning, Graham,' says Janice dazedly. 'Oh Becky! I've never seen anything like it. In all the years… If Tom could only see you…' She breaks off and looks at Mum. 'Have you taken any photographs?'
'We haven't!' says Mum in dismay. 'It didn't even occur to us. Graham, quick – go and get the camera.'
'No, wait, I'll get our camcorder!' says Janice. 'It won't take me two ticks. We could have the car arriving in the drive, and Becky walking out of the front door… and maybe we could use The Four Seasons as the soundtrack, and then cut straight to-'
'No!' I say hastily, seeing a flicker of amusement pass across the face of the driver. God, this is embarrassing. And I was doing so well at looking nonchalant and professional. 'We haven't got time for any pictures. I have to get to the studios!'
'Yes,' says Janice, suddenly looking anxious. 'Yes, you don't want to be late.' She glances fearfully at her watch as though afraid the programme might already have started. 'It's on at eleven, isn't it?'
'Eleven o'clock the programme starts,' says Dad. 'Set the video for five too, that's what I've been telling people.'
'That's what we'll do,' says Janice. 'Just in case.' She gives a little sigh. 'I shan't dare to go to the loo, all morning, just in case I miss it!'
There's an awed silence as I get into the car. The driver closes the door smartly, then walks around to the driver's door. I press the button to lower my window and grin out at Mum and Dad.
'Becky, darling, what will you do afterwards?' says Mum. 'Come back here or go back to the flat?'
Immediately I feel my smile falter, and look down, pretending to fiddle with the window controls. I don't want to think about afterwards.
In fact, I can't even visualize afterwards. I'm going to be on the telly… and that's as far as it goes. The rest of my life is shut securely away in a box at the back of my head and I don't want to remember it's there.
'I … I'm not sure,' I say. 'I'll see what happens.'
'They'll probably take you out to lunch afterwards,' says Dad knowledgeably. 'These showbiz types are always having lunch with each other.'
'Liquid lunches,' puts in Janice, and gives a little laugh.
'At the Ivy,' says Mum. 'That's where all the actors meet up, isn't it?'
'The Ivy's old hat!' retorts Dad. 'They'll take her to the Groucho Club.'
