Chapter 1
The row of faces stared at her blankly.
‘Six grand to film your armpit?’ said Bryony, her frizzy blonde hair framed by a halo of flashing lights from a tired-looking Christmas tree which was starting to make Cassie feel slightly ill. The restaurant was full of groups, mostly consisting of women shrieking with laughter, apparently having the time of their lives. Cassie was meeting her old school crowd from Rockwood Manor – or ‘the girls’, as they still referred to themselves – for their Christmas meet-up, which in recent years always seemed to be relegated to the post-Christmas lull.
‘You make it sound insane, but it’s a deodorant commercial. I’ve officially one of the most famous armpits in the UK – and Ireland, of course,’ Cassie announced, expecting at least some hilarity. Silence. Jeez, tough crowd.
‘And did you have to be a member of .?.?. whatever it is .?.?. Actors’ Equity for that?’ Norah’s tone was incredulous.
‘Well, technically, yes.’
‘Not all of her, just her armpit.’ Celine chortled, always the comedienne. Cassie could feel her heart beginning to sink into the new green suede Doc Martens boots she’d treated herself to out of a chunk of the six grand.
‘I mean, any one of us could’ve done that. It’s not really acting, is it?’ said Norah.
Cassie knew in her heart the truth of the old adage ‘When you’re explaining, you’re losing,’ nonetheless she could hear her tone becoming more insistent.
‘It’s not just the armpit thing, obviously. It’s the girl-power spirit that we’re creating in the ad. It’s subtle, but that’s what creates the magic.’
There was a pause.
‘Magic?’ they chorused.
‘I mean, they were such an amazing group of women on the ad, really vibrant and empowered. It was so inspiring, being with them for the two days – and we’ve actually stayed in touch. We’ve a WhatsApp group called “Stay cool”.’
‘Two days, six grand? Girls, we’re in the wrong business,’ said Celine.
‘Well, of course, it’s not that simple, you have to hit your mark for the camera and things like that.’
‘What’s that?’ said Bryony.
‘Well, it’s basically an X on the floor.’
There was no point in trying to explain that you were one piece in a multimillion-pound jigsaw and whatever you did, big or small, you had to get it right.
‘Yeah, that’s what I’ve always thought. Anyone could do it,’ observed Norah in exactly the same authoritative tone that had earned her the level of Higher Executive in the civil service. She was also the mother of twin boys who were simultaneously cutting their back teeth and therefore had precious little time for nonsense of any sort.
Oh God, please, somebody change the subject, thought Cassie.
‘Well,’ said Louise kindly, her soft face dimpling, ‘at least you got paid, that’s the main thing, isn’t it?’
‘It sure is,’ agreed Cassie gratefully.
‘I still think it’s a racket, not to mention a closed shop,’ persisted Norah, which was probably why she was about to be promoted to Higher Executive, Higher Scale and soon thereafter, no doubt, Assistant Principal Officer.
Louise raised her glass. ‘Welcome home, Cassie, and happy belated thirty-seventh birthday, sorry we missed it.’
There was a chorus of cheers.
‘Thirty-seven already? My birthday’s not till July. I thought I was the oldest,’ said Bryony.
Silence.
‘I was thirty-six last month,’ volunteered Celine.
‘I’m not till next September,’ said Norah. ‘Cassie, how come you were always one of the oldest in the class?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, I think my mother forgot to send me.’
