Greta sank into the chair opposite, her gaze fixed on the wall behind her agent. It was covered with photos of smiling celebrities, showcasing the skyrocketing success of Nora’s agency, Sky High Ltd, over the last couple of decades. Despite having been one of the agency’s first-ever signings, Greta now felt like a dusty trophy sitting forgotten on a shelf.
Her eyes strayed to one photo in particular, of Nora trying to cosy up to Hollywood megastar Tobias Blake. So far, she hadn’t persuaded him to join the agency, but Nora was someone who never gave up.
Greta didn’t just see Nora as her agent. She considered her a friend, confidante and champion, too. She’d hardly changed over the years and still rocked a black pixie cut and purple- rimmed glasses.
‘Only six people showed up. Not exactly a roaring success,’ Greta said with a wry smile. She decided not to mention the disaster that had unfolded. ‘The brownies definitely stole the show.’
Nora rapped her desk with a magic wand. The crystal- encrusted stick topped with a star had been a gift from another client, and she waved it around like a fairy godmother. ‘Six isnota number to sniff at,’ she said. ‘Those six people have the potential to become your ambassadors, to spread your story. Every viral clip starts with a single view.’
Greta nodded. ‘I know, but I used to draw a much bigger crowd. It feels like my fans have all moved on.’ She knew she was exaggerating, but the words slipped out anyway.
Nora tutted gently. ‘You can’t expect life to be perfect all the time. What does perfection even look like, anyway?’
Greta rubbed away a dull ache in her chest. ‘Oh, I don’t know. An adoring husband who wants to work on our marriage? A daughter who doesn’t prefer animals to people? No wrinkles and thicker hair?’ She gave a comedic shrug. ‘Maybe I should aim for a Hollywood blockbuster with Tobias Blake while I’m at it.’
‘It’s good to aim high, darling,’ Nora said, setting down her wand. ‘But you must also be kind to yourself. You’ve had a tough time recently . . . separating from Jim, raising a teenager, and losing your mum . . .’
Greta froze for a moment, her smile faltering as the weight of Nora’s words hit home. A lump rose in her throat as she thought of her mum, Marjorie. She’d lost her to cancer earlier that year, and it still felt like someone had dug a cake knife into her and carved out a big slice. Her mum had been her biggest supporter, always there to applaud every performance, and she missed her terribly.
‘I’m here if ever you need to talk,’ Nora added. ‘Remember that.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ Sitting up straighter, Greta clasped her hands together. Leaning in, she said, ‘I want to look forward, not back. Has there been any feedback from the other roles you’ve put me forward for?’
Nora’s gaze shifted to her giant stack of paperwork. ‘Unfortunately, you didn’t get the Sparklesun dish soap commercial. Or the one for Gnawers tinned ham.’
Greta nodded, actually a bit relieved about the ham role. She hadn’t even wanted the job, only agreeing to a Zoom audition to prove to Nora she was still employable. In her mind, she’d already been offered the commercial and had declined it, imagining Nora saying, ‘I totally agree the role is beneath an actor of your calibre . . .’
Greta’s last proper acting job had been two years ago, a minor part in a hospital drama based in the sixties calledMidwives and Mayhem.She’d hoped it would revive her career, but her lines had been minimal, and no one had recognised her in the false buck teeth she’d had to wear. The show had been cancelled after six episodes.
Since then she’d kept busy with a few jobs as an extra, and running her acting classes.
‘What about opening that local school summer fair?’ she asked. ‘It’d be great to help out the community, and I can totally cut a ribbon.’
‘Hmm.’ Nora rifled through her papers. ‘Ah yes. Sorry, but that’s also a no-go. They picked someone fromCelebrity Desert Islandinstead.’
Greta threw a hand in the air, her outer calm fraying.‘Seriously?’
‘They wanted someone the kids might recognise.’
Greta sighed. ‘I suppose ribbon-cutting and canned meat aren’t the big comeback we were looking for anyway. There’s got to be something out there for me. Something more rewarding . . .’
Nora reached across the desk and patted Greta’s wrist. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not you. It’sthem.Showbiz is a battleground right now, and they’re the ones without vision.’ She ran a tongue over her teeth while thinking. ‘Perhaps you should consider working with Jim and Lottie again. You’d be a more attractive commercial proposition as a trio. The Perks family reunited on screen for the first time in ten years could be quite a story.’
Greta turned her palms over. ‘I’d love that! But it’s tricky to get the three of us together for a coffee, let alone on TV. Lottie’s struggling at school and seems to blame me and Jim for everything. Jim is as buoyant as ever, floating around in his own bubble. We’re still living apart, and he seems to be taking to his new life like a duck to water . . .’ She glanced away, an urge to cry threatening to escape.
Nora searched through her papers again. ‘It’s a tough situation, I know. But most families go through ups and downs, and sometimes it takes time for things to settle.’ She pulled out a file and flipped it open, scanning through it. ‘Hmm, there isonejob you might be interested in . . . a new celebrity reality show calledBack to the Land.’
The colour drained from Greta’s cheeks. ‘A reality show?’ She’d received a couple of offers in the past and had turned them down, not wanting to be a spectacle for viewers to gossip about.
Nora passed the file to her. ‘I know it sounds a bit low- rent, but it’s a great way to raise your profile. You’d go back to basics—living in a rural hut, making a fire, foraging, baking bread outdoors, looking after livestock, that kind of thing. Honestly, I hadn’t realised how cute goats were until I saw the pitch document.’
Greta opened it up and slid out a photo. She stared into a pair of yellow eyes with vertical pupils that reminded her of a horror film she’d once watched, something to do with witchcraft. Hens scuttled around the feet of six dirt-covered contestants from last year’s series. She didn’t recognise any of them.
‘Think positively,’ Nora urged. ‘This could get you noticed by other producers. You could write a cookery book, and just think of the appearances at farms.’
Greta pondered it for a moment, almost unable to believe her next question. ‘Do I need to audition?’
‘Just say yes, darling. And leave the rest to me.’
