Black-and-white clips of glamorous ladies from the 1950s filled the screen. Their voices were politely crisp like news anchors. With the poise of mannequins, they sipped cup after cup of coffee, smiling and declaring that everything was ‘delicious,’ ‘marvellous,’ or ‘divine.’
Greta settled back to watch, swept away to a world of genteel coffee mornings and romantic dinner dates, where men wore suits and hats, women sported pearls, and people called each other ‘darling.’
More commercials followed, from the sixties, seventies and eighties, through to the Millennium. Then to the era Greta had starred in, from the mid-two-thousands to the twenty-tens. Her nerves pattered as she anticipated her debut appearance, as a young woman arriving at her first-ever home in Mapleville. She could still recite the script.
Seeing herself on-screen was surreal. She recognised her own mannerisms, the way she moved, the slight lift of her mouth on one side, and the wiggle of her left eyebrow when she spoke.
Oh wow. My face was so fresh and my hair full. I actually had a waist.
Greta watched, mesmerised, as some of the best times of her life played out for the camera. She grinned at the sight of Jim painting her fence, their subsequent horse-riding date, his proposal, then their on-screen wedding. He’d been so keen and attentive back then, always a sparkle in his eyes when he gazed at her.
Her ears pricked when a young male celebrity she hadn’t heard of gushed about her in a talking head segment. ‘Greta was wholesome but sexy, too, you know? Like your friend’s mum who makes you a cake, then feeds it to you with her fingers.’
She let out a burst of laughter at that one, followed by a stray tear that wound down her cheek.
The jangle of keys in the door made her sit more upright. Lottie was home.
Greta stood up, wiped her face and hastily rearranged her blanket. ‘Hi, sweetheart,’ she called out. ‘Had a good day?’
Lottie entered the room and slowed her pace. She slowly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she checked out Greta’s clothes. ‘Whatareyou wearing, Mum? You look like a bargain bin superhero.’
Greta’s cheeks flushed, and she stuck a hand on her hip. ‘No need to be rude. It’s just something I was trying on. How was school?’
‘Fantastic,’ Lottie deadpanned, dropping her backpack to the floor with a thud. She eyed the TV screen, then froze. ‘Are youreallywatching yourself? That’s so cringe.’
‘Really? You think so?’ Greta shrugged. ‘Maple Gold was a big part of my life, and yours, too, when you were small. It’s interesting to look back sometimes.’ She reached for the zip on her dress again, tugging it with no success. ‘Now, what do you fancy for dinner? Beans on toast?’
Whenever she couldn’t think of what to make for tea, something on toast was her go-to. You could never go wrong with baked beans.
But Lottie’s attention was still glued to the screen, where a younger Greta and Jim beamed as they cradled a baby Lottie in their arms. Another clip followed, showing Lottie trying to toddle across the living room. Greta could practically hear the director in her head, urging,‘Smile for the camera, baby girl.’
Baby Lottie fell down onto her bottom. Then, eyes fierce with determination, she got back up and tried to walk again.
‘You’ve always had a fighting spirit,’ Greta said gently. ‘Why don’t we chat about your talent show over dinner? I bet you’re going to be brilliant. Maybe someone will even spot your potential. It could lead to some great opportunities . . .’ She stopped talking when she saw Lottie’s shoulders stiffening.
Lottie snatched up her backpack again and hugged it to her chest. Her voice wobbled when she spoke. ‘Why do you always want to put me under the spotlight? First with those ads, and now . . .this.’
‘Spotlight?’ Greta raised an eyebrow. ‘For showing an interest in your show? I just like hearing about your day, that’s all. Those ads weren’t all about fame. We had lots of fun, too. The talent show could be a chance to really enjoy yourself.’
‘The ads were part of whoyouwere,’ Lottie snapped, her eyes flashing. ‘Everyone always expects me to besomethingbecause of stupid Maple Gold. Why can’t I just be . . . me?’
Greta’s stomach sank. ‘I didn’t realise you felt that way. You were wonderful on-screen, and people loved you. You used to adore performing. What changed?’
‘People didn’t loveme.The loved theideaof me. I was like a doll to them.’
‘Now, that’s not true,’ Greta said. ‘I remember strangers stopping me in the street to tell me how talented you were. When we lost the contract, people really cared.’
She pursed her lips while other memories trickled back. An article she’d once read stuck in her mind, insisting how lucky the Perks family was. As if their success had nothing to do with the hard work they’d all put in. Perhaps Lottie had a small point.
‘Those commercials are on YouTube and get shared around school.’ Lottie sniffed. ‘I don’t want to be known as the Maple Gold kid, like it’s the only interesting thing about me.’
‘I get it,’ Greta soothed. ‘It kind of happens to me, too. Like being typecast. I can imagine how annoying that must be, especially when there’s so much more to you. But those ads are still something to be proud of, and I bet people are just jealous, really.’
Lottie cricked her neck. ‘I suppose . . .’
Greta reached into her handbag, pulling out the purple sweater. She held it out to Lottie. ‘You left this at Dad’s place. I brought it home for you.’
Lottie’s eyes instantly narrowed, as if she’d been caught out. ‘You went to the penthouse?’
