question. Yes, I have paperwork. There’s always paperwork.’
She reached inside the Pandora, drawing out a document wallet containing a sheaf of A4 sheets attached to thin plastic clipboards, each with a printed label.
‘Here we are. Jeremiah . . . Henrietta . . . Olivia . . . Declan. These are the agreements you submitted with your initial applications. Legal tells me I have to read through the section marked “Audition” to make sure you know what you’re getting into.’
‘Sounds ominous,’ Liv said on her way to sit down. Then laughed to show she didn’t mean it.
She curled up next to Hetty, tucking her feet under her. Hetty grinned and flexed her eyebrows in a this-is-it! kind of way, which immediately made Liv feel like an evil bitch. But honestly, that sweatshirt! Liv had a photo of Hetty aged fourteen wearing the exact same garment on a school skiing trip. Which, in clothing years, made it older than the actual Pyrenees.
‘It’s just to make sure we’re all completely clear,’ Cass said.
Draping one arm along the leathery back of the sofa, Duff fanned himself with his copy. ‘No need. We trust you a hundred per cent, Cassandra.’
A lion on the scent of a zebra. That’s what he reminded Liv of. A lion too full of itself to realise this particular zebra was way, way out of its league.
‘That’s good to know but have a quick look to refamiliarise yourself,’ said Cass, her brown eyes trained on the laptop.
Jez curled his shoulder away from Duff ’s loosely dangling hand and studied the contract, one side, two sides before taking Hetty’s copy. He flapped his fingers, offering to do the same for Liv but she shook her head and pulled the contract to her chest.
Cass looked up expectantly. ‘Got a pen? Great. Any questions, fire away, otherwise please tick the boxes after each point.’
She began to read in a can’t-put-your-finger-on-it accent. Posh, yes, but with a hint of something under it. Something not entirely English?
‘I understand I am auditioning to take part in a vehicle for Pretty Vacant Productions with the working title: This Careless Life.
‘By agreeing to participate in the audition process, I confirm I am eighteen years of age.’
Tick.
‘I understand this audition will never be broadcast or made publicly available.’
Tick.
‘I give Pretty Vacant Productions permission to continue to obtain and research my online presence including accessing my social-media profiles.’
Tick.
‘I understand that participation could have a profound impact on my life and those around me.’
Tick.
Pause.
Bookcase. Kitchen. Sideboard. Desk.
‘One . . . two . . . three . . . four.’
Cass jabbed her pen at each camera in turn. ‘Audiences expect full disclosure, guys. In this job, festering skeletons have a nasty habit of tumbling out, sooner or later. And it will be much better for you if you’re transparent from the start. So think carefully now – is there anything you need to tell me?’
Duff spread his arms wide. ‘What you see is what you get with me. No skeletons, no secrets. Guaranteed.’
Cass laughed softly.
‘Everyone’s got secrets.’ Her deep brown eyes met Liv’s. ‘Everyone. ’
Then she raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow a tiny fraction and panic jolted through Liv.
Wait. Did she know about –?
No.
No way.
It was impossible. Apart from herself, only two other people knew: Hetty (who would never blab) and him, and he’d been careful to the point of paranoia. No names on texts, separate SIM cards, no likes on each other’s posts . . . literally nothing to give away that they were anything more than vague friends of friends.
A rustling interrupted her thoughts. Cass had turned to the next page in the contract, but her gaze still rested on Liv.
Liv’s heartbeat speeded up. Oh God. Please don’t.
But then Cass’s thoughtful face broke into a warm smile. ‘No one wants to unload their burning confessions? OK, so if we’re all happy with the Big Brother stuff, let’s move on.’
As Cass carried on reading, Liv’s nerves gradually unknotted. No. Absolutely no way Cass knew about him. Part of the test, wasn’t it? A lucky guess to put her on edge. Like those TV psychics who cast a million generalisations in the air and wait for the audience to bite.
Liv’s mind floated out of the room, up the stairs and into her dressing room to pull open a few drawers, rifle along the hangers . . . Oh dear. A terminal crisis loomed on the clothes front that a trip into Manchester couldn’t cure. Two, maybe three hardcore shopping days in London with Dad’s credit card would do the trick. Should she invite Hetty along? Persuade her to slip into something a little less comfortable for once? Maybe even brave a manicure?
Liv inspected her nails throughout the section on ‘disclaimers and exclusions’. Rubbed at a faint scuff mark on the side of her sandal during ‘investigative access’. Listened to Duff crick his neck from side to side while Cass droned on about ‘post-interview courses of action’. Whatever that meant. Duff yawned and tapped his finger against the plastic clipboard. The rhythm wormed its way into Liv’s brain: get on with it . . . get on with it . . . get on with –
‘This is the last one, I promise,’ Cass said, reeling Liv out of her trance. Caught mid-yawn, she coughed unconvincingly and pasted on her hanging-on-every-syllable expression, a look she’d recently perfected thanks to Hetty’s adoring-boyfriend-monologues.
‘I understand if I choose to withdraw from today’s audition process, the entire team will be disqualified.’
‘All in or all out,’ Jez murmured.
‘Exactly. So . . .’
Cass mimed ticking the box.
Next to Liv, Hetty stopped chewing the end of her pen and tilted her head to one side. ‘What if we do get chosen and then one of us wants to drop out later on?’
What?
Snapped out of her relaxed state, Liv cast her friend a shut up glare and quickly clarified. ‘I think what Hetty means is if someone is ill or has an accident.’
‘Still, it’s a valid question.’ Cass held up a finger. ‘Bear with me one second . . .’
There was a pause while Cass rummaged through her beautiful Pandora. Liv nudged Hetty, urgently
