Strictly Love. Julia Williams

       Chapter One

      ‘Remind me what I'm doing here again?’ Emily stared into the mirror with a frown as she applied some lippy.

      ‘Emily Henderson, what are you like? Because there's free booze, we get to meet famous people and it's a laugh,’ Ffion assured her. ‘Come on, you know you'll enjoy it.’

      ‘Oh, right,’ said Emily, staring at herself critically. God, she was a mess. Her normally sleek dark bob was uncharacteristic ally unkempt, and she had dark circles under her pale blue eyes. She was looking gaunt. Even her mum had commented on it at Christmas. No wonder, with so many late nights since she'd been back at work. Working hard and playing hard. It was one way of not thinking about things, she supposed.

      ‘Besides,’ added Ffion, with characteristic thoughtlessness, ‘you've been as miserable as sin since Christmas. You need cheering up.’

      And why would that be, I wonder? Emily thought to herself. She really had tried to keep her resolution of looking on the New Year as a new beginning, but the grey cold of January had sapped away all her resolve, and she felt more miserable then ever. And less clear than ever about Callum. Like an idiot, Emily had mistaken the tenderness Callum had shown her briefly as they shared brunch together on New Year's Day for something else. Then she'd further compounded the mistake by mentioning babies. Callum had been pretty elusive since.

      Emily followed her friend reluctantly out to the trendy bar, jammed full of Z-listers and their acolytes eager to buy copies of Jasmine Symonds's autobiography, Jasmine: My Story So Far. All Ffion cared about, with her endless invites to celebrity functions, launch parties, tickets for the Brits and the like, was hanging out with famous people. As if some of that shiny stuff would rub off on her. It was only a matter of time before she appeared on some crap reality TV programme.

      ‘Hey, look.’ Ffion dug Emily in the ribs as they picked up their free glass of dubious chardonnay from a bored-looking waiter. Crackers was the trendy bar much beloved of the celebrity set (or zedlebrities, as she and Ffion had taken to calling them. Mind you, such sarcasm didn't stop Ffion from wanting to join their ranks), and the place was heaving.

      ‘What?’ Emily had a headache and was thinking longingly of a long, hot bath and the Margaret Atwood she'd been given for Christmas. The thought of Jasmine writing anything was risible, let alone such an impossibly thick volume for someone who was a mere twenty-two years old.

      ‘There's Twinkletoes Tone,’ said Ffion. ‘They must have made it up again.’

      As Twinkletoes Tone went over to kiss Jasmine – a small, dumpy, rather cowlike creature – full on the mouth, the fact that they had indeed made up was plain for all to see.

      ‘Tony babe,’ Jasmine purred. ‘Get me another chardonnay, will you?’

      ‘Maybe they're just snogging for the cameras,’ said Emily, thinking, ‘like, do we care?’

      ‘Of course we care,’ Ffion scolded her.

      Damn it. Emily's annoying habit of thinking aloud had snuck out again. One day it would get her into serious trouble. Luckily Ffion was too preoccupied with the various permutations of Jasmine's love life to take much notice.

      ‘But yes, you could be right, they could be just doing it for the PR.’ Ffion's beady little eyes lit up with excitement. How she got so titillated by all this stuff was beyond Emily. ‘Word on the street is that ever since Tony got ditched from his club, Jasmine's been looking for ways to get rid.’

      ‘That's a bit rich, isn't it?’ laughed Emily. ‘For someone whose sole claim to fame is being the first person in Love Shack ever to have performed live fellatio on TV, she's hardly famous for her own merits. At least Tony has talent.’

      ‘Hmm, tell that to his team mates,’ said Ffion. ‘Wasn't it his lack of talent that caused them to go crashing out of the FA Cup?’ Twinkletoes Tone had earned his moniker by scoring an own goal in last year's FA Cup final, thereby earning the never-to-be-forgotten Sun headline: ‘IT'S ALL GONE TITS UP FOR TWINKLETOES TONE!’

      ‘Well, I feel sorry for him,’ said Emily. ‘I mean, what has Jasmine got that is so wonderful?’

      They watched as Jasmine scrawled her illegible signature across the front of an adoring fan's book.

      ‘Ooh, Jasmine, I want to be just like you,’ the girl, a spotty fifteen-year-old, gushed.

      ‘It's easy,’ said Jasmine with a lascivious wink, ‘all you need to do is get your tits out on TV and you can do anything.’

      ‘Jeez, there's an ambition,’ muttered Emily.

      ‘I dunno,’ said Ffion. ‘Jasmine's just signed a mega-deal with that cosmetic dental chain Smile, Please! ’ Ffion's PR firm, A-Listers, represented Jasmine so she knew these things. ‘Smile, Please! are going to be huge, you know. Everyone wants cosmetic surgery these days. And if that works out, who knows? According to OK! magazine, her aim is to be the face of L'Oréal.’

      ‘Jasmine?’ Emily snorted into her glass. ‘I didn't know they were planning to put heifers in their ads.’ ‘Okay,’ admitted Ffion, ‘her looks are more bovine then elfin. But you don't know how she'll look after Smile, Please! have finished with her. And you've got to admit, those teeth … now they do look fantastic.’

      They watched as Jasmine flashed her brilliant smile at another sappy group of fans.

      ‘Well, I think without the smile she wouldn't be the face of anything,’ replied Emily. ‘God, the world's gone mad!’

      ‘Maybe so,’ said Ffion, ‘but it sure as hell beats going to work for a living. If I had a chance to appear on Love Shack, I'd bite your hand off.’

      ‘I'm sure you would,’ answered Emily. ‘Listen, I'm knackered, I think I'm going to call it a day.’

      ‘Don't you want to come to Macy's?’ Ffion looked disappointed. Up until relatively recently, a night like this would always end up with them visiting Macy's. But Emily was tiring of sitting bored in the roped-off VIP area, drinking tasteless cocktails for exorbitant prices. She'd blown Ffion out several times recently, and she had a feeling her friend was none too pleased with her.

      ‘Not tonight,’ said Emily, ‘I've got an early start tomorrow.’

      Despite Ffion's efforts to make her change her mind, Emily refused to back down. Once, the thought of a night out on the tiles would have appealed, but recently, even as a means to drown her sorrows, it was losing its allure. Besides, Callum had hinted he might call. She hated being so in thrall to him, but sometimes she missed him with an intensity that was nearly physical.

      Indeed, as she sat on the train, making the long journey home, watching London racing away from her in the dark, Emily realised that she had at least made progress in one area of her life. More and more, Thurfield was feeling like a refuge from the nightmarish world she seemed to be trapped in. Katie had been telling her for years she needed to get out of her job. Emily wished it were that simple. If only her mortgage wasn't so big, the cottage didn't need so much work, her mum didn't owe so much money, and her firm didn't pay quite so well. If only.

      Her mobile bleeped and she saw a message from Callum.

       Where r u babe? Hope yr hot & waiting fr me.

      In yr dreams, she texted back, experiencing the familiar feelings of lust coupled with irritation that Callum always engendered in her. She hoped he wasn't drunk. Or high. Though he had a penthouse flat in town, he had grown up in the town next to Thurfield, and his best mates still lived nearby. There'd been a football match on this evening. No doubt he'd spent the evening tanked up with them, and was now looking for a bed for the night. She leaned against the window and stared into the dark as the countryside flitted past her. She should probably teach