control of what you say and do,’ Cass answered.
‘But do we have the right to veto?’ Judge Jez continued, pompously. ‘If the footage is edited to present us . . . unsympathetically?’
Liv’s toes clenched in her sandals.
Shut up!
Cass raised her palms in a conciliatory gesture.
‘Look, I promise no one is going to judge or humiliate you. My sole remit is to get you to show yourselves and what you’re about within these four rather lovely walls. After that it’s your call: you can take this opportunity forward or you can pretend I was never here. No one will be forcing you to do anything.’
Jez pursed his lips and continued channelling his inner Yoda.
Most monumental arse I am.
Liv twisted her hair into a ponytail then let it fan over one shoulder. Duff dragged his palms down his face with an exaggerated sigh, drum-drum-drumming his heels on the floor.
And then – finally! – Jez signed his name.
‘You’d better get used to autographs.’ Cass said, plucking the form from his hands.
The tension popped like a balloon. Liv’s laughter bordered on hysteria.
‘Anything else before we start?’
‘Yes,’ Liv said, delving down the side of the sofa. She brandished her selfie stick. ‘One tiny thing. Please could we take a team selfie?’
‘If you make it very quick,’ Cass replied.
Jez shook his head and gave a disapproving tut.
‘Honestly, you’re addicted. Olivia Dawson-Hill and The Stick of Narcissus. Cass, I apologise, I realise you don’t have time for this.’
Cheek! Liv was about to tell Jez where he could shove both the stick and his comments when Cass burst in to a melodic peal of laughter.
‘Stick of Narcissus. Very good. I love that. Very appropriate.’
She was still grinning broadly when Liv took the picture. Four friends with their glamorous visitor beaming in the middle. Cass turned to click-clack back to the laptop and Liv quickly uploaded the image.
#topsecret #fingerscrossed #ohmygodohmygod #lifechanging
‘Phone off now, please,’ Cass said, glancing at the notebook. ‘And we really need to make a start. You’re first, Liv.’
Liv’s heart gave a tight squeeze. Show time!
‘One sec.’
She smoothed the ends of her shiny dark hair down en route to the mirror. Grimacing at her reflection, she ran her tongue over her teeth and a practised finger over both immaculately threaded eyebrows.
‘Ready?’
Liv nodded, cleared her throat. ‘I’m ready.’
1 July, 10.28 a.m.
‘Eeek. Cringe.’ Liv peeped at the TV through splayed fingers. ‘What an absolute hound.’
The image showed her frozen in the act of kissing a red-soled shoe; the exposed brick of the coach-house wall visible behind her.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Hetty said, reaching over to pull Liv’s hands away from her face. ‘You look beautiful, just like always.’
Truthfully? Hetty was right. OK, Dad’s nose loomed large (so unfair he refused to let her have surgery), but the rest of it . . . skin, hair, eyes. Perfect.
‘This is the video from the start, guys,’ came Cass’s voice from the corner. ‘I’ve got high hopes for you, Liv.’
She pressed a button and the caption Olivia Dawson-Hill Pretty Vacant Productions #1 appeared on the screen. Liv swished her silky hair to the other side and leaned forward, propelled by anticipation. The atmosphere reminded her of the opening night of a play or a film premiere, that same tension crackling like static in the air. The expectant expressions.
Then they were all looking at her face on the TV (hair, good; make-up, great). No trace of her dad’s flat, northern vowels in the voice that filtered through the speakers.
Olivia Dawson-Hill Pretty Vacant Productions #1
Hi, everyone [waves]. My name is Olivia Dawson-Hill, but my friends call me Liv. This is my application for This Careless Life.
OK, so I’ll start with my favourite topic: me! I’ve just left school, finished my A levels [pulls face] and waiting for the results in August [closes eyes, sighs noisily]. Don’t ask. But the things you really need to know about me are: I literally live for fashion and beauty. I swear, without shopping, I would die. Look. [Camera turns to film room and image jerks through into another.]
This is my bedroom [camera pans over white walls, oak beams] and this [flings door open, automatic spotlights shine on rails of clothing] isn’t all of it either; I’ve got another wardrobe in my old room over in my parents’ side of the house.
And of course ta-daaaa! Shoes . . . [Camera zooms up and down on tiered storage. Liv’s hand appears to take a pair, lifts the still-attached price tag] £200. [Laughs.] Not even been worn. I can’t help it; I’m a shoe-aholic.
[Buries her face in the shoes, inhales deeply] Aaah, happiness is . . . the smell of new shoes. And new lipsticks, new clothes, new handbags . . . [laughs]
[Camera POV returns to Liv.] So why should you pick me? That’s easy! You want personality plus and I can give you that. I’m great on camera. I’ve got my own beauty vlog . . . maybe you’ve heard of it? Miss Olivia Loves? I’m on target for a million subscribers across my channels by the end of this month. Crazy, isn’t it? All the major brands are contacting me, sending me samples. It literally is a full-time commitment; I’ve worked so hard. And I got nominated at the Beauty Blogger Awards last year for Most Inspirational Newcomer. I didn’t win [laughs] but the party was In. Cred. Ible. One of the best nights of my life. I’ll remember it as long as I live.
What else? [Looks at ceiling.] Oh yeah. Money. We’re, like, seriously minted. My dad has an agricultural business and my mum breeds racehorses of the Grand-National-winning kind. We’ve got this place [pans camera round]. Well, this is all mine. Mum and Dad have got the big house next door. Then we’ve got one in the South of France, where I’ll be going in a few weeks, unless you pick me for the show [laughs].
So [camera back on Liv, counts off points on fingers] I look good, I sound good and my life is outrageous so please please pretty please,
