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Authors: Eleanor Prescott
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he’d set up the group. After years of lazing about, he’d finally got a job. And, when he discovered he had used-to-be-famous clients, he decided he’d been a selfish arse for too long. It wasn’t a cure for cancer but, in his own small way, he hoped he was doing some good. These days half the world wanted to be famous, but nobody thought about whatcame next …
after
you were famous – when the work dried up and the cameras went away. You might only be twenty-three, but life suddenly felt like it was finished. What could you do next? Fame was fun, but it turned into a millstone. When the whole world knew you, could you
really
work in a shop? An office? A bank? Would you even make it through the interview without being smirked at by the boss, or pressed for an autograph by a pink-faced woman from HR? Fame didn’t open doors – it closed them. It stopped you moving on.
Woody tipped back the potted bay tree and collected the wages Mrs Henderson had left for him. The thing was, the group wasn’t going quite as well as he’d planned. He was happy with his new life and wanted the others to be too. He wanted to stop Terence and Simon being bitter, to stop Sue worrying about the past, to teach Holly the trick of confidence and get Cressida to relax enough to make friends. He wanted to tell them that being not-famous wasn’t failure, just a chance to do something new. But it wasn’t exactly working. Terence was as angry as ever and Holly still wouldn’t say boo to a goose.
He shouldered his ladder and headed off to the next set of dirty windows. Maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew? he thought grimly. After all, who was he to meddle in other people’s lives?
Smash Hits
covers were hardly qualifications.
He could see the group needed a bit of a shake-up – that was why he’d invited Roxy. Not that she could fix their psyches – but she might just make them laugh. When Woody thought about Roxy, he thought of a joyous Nike up the jacksy of life.Of course, she had her own career crisis to deal with now, but she couldn’t quite see it yet. And whilst she was figuring everything out maybe she could get the group to have fun. After all, she’d unknowingly helped him through
his
doldrums … Yes, Woody smiled – Roxy Squires was
exactly
what the group needed. And she might not know it yet, but the group was
exactly
what she needed too.
10.51am @FoxyRoxy
Wow! Liz Hurley right (as ever!). Lust IS good for the skin! My mug’s GLOWING! Cheeks like an air-brushed baby – nips like champagne corks!
To: Roxy Squires
From:
Celebrity MasterChef
production office
Dear Miss Spires,
Thank you for your recent email(s) requesting consideration as a contestant on the forthcoming series of
Celebrity MasterChef
.
Thank you also for your admission that you can ‘bollocks-up boiling an egg’.
As per our replies of 3 rd October, 8 th November and 10 th December, we regret that we will not be offering you an appearance on the show.
SUE
Sue had plumped for Assam and Bourbons in the end. She placed her tea and biscuits on the kitchen table, opened her computer and readied herself for a surge of endorphins. But these endorphins weren’t the kind that came from tea. These were technological endorphins, sparked into life by the reading of her emails. Or rather, her email, because her inbox only ever had one.
Sue’s inbox was a bleak little corner of cyberspace. She’d become so invisible she’d never made it on to any spam lists. But her sole, weekly email brought a special kind of joy. The email was Holly’s minutes and it turned up – without fail – just before eleven every Friday morning.
Sue
loved
Holly’s minutes. She loved them just as much as her
Times
crossword and her weekly gossip magazines. Every Friday she’d pull out the biscuits and prepare. Holly was so punctual – Sue could boil her kettle at 10.55 in anticipation of the ping of her inbox at 10.59. She’d then lose herself in
after
you were famous – when the work dried up and the cameras went away. You might only be twenty-three, but life suddenly felt like it was finished. What could you do next? Fame was fun, but it turned into a millstone. When the whole world knew you, could you
really
work in a shop? An office? A bank? Would you even make it through the interview without being smirked at by the boss, or pressed for an autograph by a pink-faced woman from HR? Fame didn’t open doors – it closed them. It stopped you moving on.
Woody tipped back the potted bay tree and collected the wages Mrs Henderson had left for him. The thing was, the group wasn’t going quite as well as he’d planned. He was happy with his new life and wanted the others to be too. He wanted to stop Terence and Simon being bitter, to stop Sue worrying about the past, to teach Holly the trick of confidence and get Cressida to relax enough to make friends. He wanted to tell them that being not-famous wasn’t failure, just a chance to do something new. But it wasn’t exactly working. Terence was as angry as ever and Holly still wouldn’t say boo to a goose.
He shouldered his ladder and headed off to the next set of dirty windows. Maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew? he thought grimly. After all, who was he to meddle in other people’s lives?
Smash Hits
covers were hardly qualifications.
He could see the group needed a bit of a shake-up – that was why he’d invited Roxy. Not that she could fix their psyches – but she might just make them laugh. When Woody thought about Roxy, he thought of a joyous Nike up the jacksy of life.Of course, she had her own career crisis to deal with now, but she couldn’t quite see it yet. And whilst she was figuring everything out maybe she could get the group to have fun. After all, she’d unknowingly helped him through
his
doldrums … Yes, Woody smiled – Roxy Squires was
exactly
what the group needed. And she might not know it yet, but the group was
exactly
what she needed too.
10.51am @FoxyRoxy
Wow! Liz Hurley right (as ever!). Lust IS good for the skin! My mug’s GLOWING! Cheeks like an air-brushed baby – nips like champagne corks!
To: Roxy Squires
From:
Celebrity MasterChef
production office
Dear Miss Spires,
Thank you for your recent email(s) requesting consideration as a contestant on the forthcoming series of
Celebrity MasterChef
.
Thank you also for your admission that you can ‘bollocks-up boiling an egg’.
As per our replies of 3 rd October, 8 th November and 10 th December, we regret that we will not be offering you an appearance on the show.
SUE
Sue had plumped for Assam and Bourbons in the end. She placed her tea and biscuits on the kitchen table, opened her computer and readied herself for a surge of endorphins. But these endorphins weren’t the kind that came from tea. These were technological endorphins, sparked into life by the reading of her emails. Or rather, her email, because her inbox only ever had one.
Sue’s inbox was a bleak little corner of cyberspace. She’d become so invisible she’d never made it on to any spam lists. But her sole, weekly email brought a special kind of joy. The email was Holly’s minutes and it turned up – without fail – just before eleven every Friday morning.
Sue
loved
Holly’s minutes. She loved them just as much as her
Times
crossword and her weekly gossip magazines. Every Friday she’d pull out the biscuits and prepare. Holly was so punctual – Sue could boil her kettle at 10.55 in anticipation of the ping of her inbox at 10.59. She’d then lose herself in
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