style="font-size:15px;"> Oh please. Liv raised her eyes to the ceiling. Like the dogs going mental over the screech of the gates, Duff ’s flirt offensive was so depressingly biological. Every interaction he had with a female started with that cool up-down once-over; the instinctive, preening hey hey hey.
But the woman fixed her attention not on him but on the retro clock above his head and the white digits that flipped to 10.08 before she replied in a neutral and distinctly non-flirty way.
‘Hello, everyone. Great to meet you all in the flesh; I’ve been hearing so much about you. My name is Cassandra Verity, but please call me Cass. I’ll be taking you through the casting for This Careless Life today.’
Duff didn’t even appear to register the slight; instead he rocked back on his heels, unselfconsciously watching the visitor snap the tabs on the black case, tip the lid and extract several smaller, squishier bags.
That was the thing about Duff. His ego was galactic. Like a constantly inflating ball of vanity expanding beyond the earth, beyond the solar system, it bounced through wormholes, emerging in parallel dimensions where billions of super-cocky identi-Duffs blatantly sized up anything woman-shaped.
As always, Liv felt torn between admiring his self-confidence and massively wanting to give him a slap.
A sharp intake of breath caught her attention. Hetty. Mouth open, about to speak and nervously turning the phone around in her hands.
‘What? ’ mouthed Liv.
Hetty positioned her lips into the determined smile Liv recognised from school functions. ‘Sorry, Cass. Hello. I, er, thought the audition wasn’t till two? Are we still going to have time to rehearse?’
Twist, twist, twist went the phone.
Cass rasped a Velcro strap and straightened up. ‘I’m sorry about the short notice. I’ve had to juggle the timing because I’ve got a plane to catch this afternoon. I know you’ve been dealing with Tony, but something urgent cropped up so I’m taking over. But if you really want Tony to fit you in after he’s seen the other candidates, I’m sure he would –’
‘No,’ Liv cut in before Hetty could. ‘Today, now, with you is fine. Totally fine. Beyond fine. Awesome.’
Cass grinned. Her teeth really were lovely: very straight, very white against her olive skin. Bending her shiny dark head over the table, she unzipped the various bags and set a selection of silver and black tech on the coffee table. Tripods, cameras, a fuzzy-headed microphone . . .
‘Fantastic. Does mean we’re on a super-tight schedule though, I’m afraid. We need to set the equipment up asap so we can make a start.’
‘Can we help?’ Jez asked.
Cass, expertly screwing a stand into one of the cameras, used her head to indicate the white gloss bookcase, crammed as always with an avalanche-in-waiting of fashion magazines.
‘Sure. Can you put this . . . there?’
‘Allow me,’ Duff said, leaping up to take the camera. Jez snorted softly and Liv bit back a tut. So predictable.
‘Thanks. And these two . . .’ The woman pointed first at the worktop of the (shiny, untouched) kitchen and then at the corner desk stacked with Liv’s (shiny, untouched) revision books. ‘There and there should do it. And camera number four. Let’s see . . .’ She scanned the room. ‘There.’
With a flash of irritation, Liv scooped the scattering of jewel-bright lip glosses, nail polishes and random earrings along the sideboard and into a drawer. What a total mess. She’d have to talk to Dad about . . . was it Martina or Marina? She couldn’t remember. Whatever the new cleaner’s name was, she was a joke.
Yesterday, Liv had caught her vacuuming around a pair of cerise Victoria’s Secret knickers in her bedroom. And when Liv suggested that maybe she could, you know, pick them up first? Martina/Marina had stared blankly at her with eyes ringed in glittery blue liner, then carried on.
Absolute joke.
‘Lens caps off and angled at the sofa, please,’ Cass continued. ‘Have a wiggle, check the tripod’s steady. Press the green button on the top. And don’t worry about not rehearsing, Hetty; spontaneity gives the best results. Makes the whole process more . . . honest.’
She placed her bag on the counter that divided the kitchen from the living space. The gold P chinked against the granite as Cass rifled through, pulling out first a mini laptop case and then a black gadget studded with tiny buttons. From her position by the door, Liv had a perfect view of the computer screen Cass was now adjusting to suit the light filtering in through the blinds.
‘Nearly there, guys. Duff, may I borrow you to check the angles?’
‘Sure, what do I need to do?’
‘Look pretty,’ Cass said, flicking her gaze between the sofa and the screen.
Liv’s eyes automatically followed, tracking across her friends. Jez’s watchful, relaxed expression giving nothing away, hands clasped in his lap.
Then Duff. Every inch of that six-foot-plus gym-toned, buffed and waxed body currently squeezed between Hetty and Jez radiated natural-born poser. Liv would not be at all surprised to learn that Mrs Duffy had an ultrasound image somewhere of foetal-stage Duff pouting like a pro.
Unlike acute photo-phobe Hetty who, even when she smiled, gave the impression she would rather be facing a machine gun than a lens. At the prom she had avoided the crush of the booth, ducked to the back for the group shots. And now, hugging a velvet cushion to her chest, she was playing the part of person most unlikely to audition for a TV show to perfection. Liv damped down a surge of exasperation. Hetty had promised she would go along with it.
‘Hets?’ she said in an undertone, miming dropping the cushion.
But if Cass noticed Hetty’s nerves, she didn’t seem bothered. One final tap on the keyboard and four LEDs blinked on; a red eye staring from each of the cameras placed around the room. Four Duffs materialised on the quartered screen, each fiddling with his phone from a slightly different angle.
‘Duff, can you say something so I can test the sound levels?’ Cass said, setting a microphone on the table.
‘Anything in particular you’d like me to say?’
A line spiked into jagged peaks in the top left of her screen.
‘That’ll do, thanks.’
She moved the microphone a few centimetres closer to the sofa and wagged a finger at Duff ’s phone.
‘Sorry, no devices. They interfere with the equipment. Disabled Wi-Fi or switched off, please.’
Duff swiped his thumb over the screen and placed it on the table. ‘No worries.’
Liv quickly slipped hers out of its case and touched the little aeroplane icon. Wi-Fi Off. When she looked back up, Jez’s domed forehead had loomed into shot. The light caught his glasses and the lenses flashed opaque white.
Lines zigzagged in the corner of the screen as he asked, ‘Do we need to
