This Careless Life. Rachel McIntyre

There’ll be questions you may not want to answer and answers you certainly won’t like. By the end, you’ll feel drained, emotionally and mentally. Maybe you’ll decide you’re not up to it. Maybe you’ll decide you’re happy the way you are now. But if you go ahead, you’ll be rewarded with an opportunity to change your lives forever.’

       Your whole life is about to change.

      The mysterious whisper echoed in Liv’s mind. Too much caffeine, too little sleep. That was it. And stress. Exam stress, prom stress, HIM stress. Who wouldn’t lose the plot with all that going on?

      Her ears were playing tricks on her, that was all. Liv shook her head slightly as though fending off a mosquito and focused her attention on Cass, who was holding a printout of the contract up in front of her chest.

      ‘Pep talk over. Now it’s time for you all to sign on the dotted line, which you will find in this box . . .’ She pointed a beautifully polished fingernail at the space in the bottom left corner. ‘Here.’

      Liv complied, capping her pen almost before Cass finished her sentence. She kept her hands occupied by unfastening and re-knotting the belt on her silk jumpsuit, tying it in a floppy bow on her left hip.

      Next to her, Duff scrawled his signature, the pen scratching as it looped extravagantly across the bottom of the page, refusing to be constrained by the box. Hetty’s ponytail bobbed as she wrote tidy, blocky letters in the allotted space.

      What was Jez playing at?

      With a dismayed glance, Liv noticed him hesitate, the groove in his forehead deepening while his hand hovered.

      Get on with it . . .

      ‘Jez?’ Cass prompted gently.

      He frowned. ‘I need clarification on a few points before I can commit.’

      Liv’s heart sank. Oh God, what now? Jez Livingston. Undoubtedly the loveliest of guys in a multitude of ways, but very, very occasionally (like now) so pedantic he made her want to claw his smug face off.

      ‘Fire away,’ Cass said, glancing down at her book.

      ‘I understand the audition won’t be made public, but how much control do we have over what happens next?’

      For a start, that wasn’t even Jez’s own voice. Too deep. He’d borrowed it off his dad, trying his courtroom act on for size.

      ‘Complete control of what you say and do,’ Cass answered.

      ‘But do we have the right to veto?’ Judge Jez continued, pompously. ‘If the footage is edited to present us . . . unsympathetically?’

      Liv’s toes clenched in her sandals.

       Shut up!

      Cass raised her palms in a conciliatory gesture.

      ‘Look, I promise no one is going to judge or humiliate you. My sole remit is to get you to show yourselves and what you’re about within these four rather lovely walls. After that it’s your call: you can take this opportunity forward or you can pretend I was never here. No one will be forcing you to do anything.’

      Jez pursed his lips and continued channelling his inner Yoda.

       Most monumental arse I am.

      Liv twisted her hair into a ponytail then let it fan over one shoulder. Duff dragged his palms down his face with an exaggerated sigh, drum-drum-drumming his heels on the floor.

      And then – finally! – Jez signed his name.

      ‘You’d better get used to autographs.’ Cass said, plucking the form from his hands.

      The tension popped like a balloon. Liv’s laughter bordered on hysteria.

      ‘Anything else before we start?’

      ‘Yes,’ Liv said, delving down the side of the sofa. She brandished her selfie stick. ‘One tiny thing. Please could we take a team selfie?’

      ‘If you make it very quick,’ Cass replied.

      Jez shook his head and gave a disapproving tut.

      ‘Honestly, you’re addicted. Olivia Dawson-Hill and The Stick of Narcissus. Cass, I apologise, I realise you don’t have time for this.’

      Cheek! Liv was about to tell Jez where he could shove both the stick and his comments when Cass burst in to a melodic peal of laughter.

      ‘Stick of Narcissus. Very good. I love that. Very appropriate.’

      She was still grinning broadly when Liv took the picture. Four friends with their glamorous visitor beaming in the middle. Cass turned to click-clack back to the laptop and Liv quickly uploaded the image.

      #topsecret #fingerscrossed #ohmygodohmygod #lifechanging

      ‘Phone off now, please,’ Cass said, glancing at the notebook. ‘And we really need to make a start. You’re first, Liv.’

      Liv’s heart gave a tight squeeze. Show time!

      ‘One sec.’

      She smoothed the ends of her shiny dark hair down en route to the mirror. Grimacing at her reflection, she ran her tongue over her teeth and a practised finger over both immaculately threaded eyebrows.

      ‘Ready?’

      Liv nodded, cleared her throat. ‘I’m ready.’

2 LIV

      1 July, 10.28 a.m.

      ‘Eeek. Cringe.’ Liv peeped at the TV through splayed fingers. ‘What an absolute hound.’

      The image showed her frozen in the act of kissing a red-soled shoe; the exposed brick of the coach-house wall visible behind her.

      ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Hetty said, reaching over to pull Liv’s hands away from her face. ‘You look beautiful, just like always.’

      Truthfully? Hetty was right. OK, Dad’s nose loomed large (so unfair he refused to let her have surgery), but the rest of it . . . skin, hair, eyes. Perfect.

      ‘This is the video from the start, guys,’ came Cass’s voice from the corner. ‘I’ve got high hopes for you, Liv.’

      She pressed a button and the caption Olivia Dawson-Hill Pretty Vacant Productions #1 appeared on the screen. Liv swished her silky hair to the other side and leaned forward, propelled by anticipation. The atmosphere reminded her of the opening night of a play or a film premiere, that same tension crackling like static in the air. The expectant expressions.

      Then they were all looking at her face on the TV (hair, good; make-up, great). No trace of her dad’s flat, northern vowels in the voice that filtered through the speakers.

       Olivia Dawson-Hill Pretty Vacant Productions #1

      Hi, everyone [waves]. My name is Olivia Dawson-Hill, but my friends call me Liv. This is my application for This Careless Life.

      OK, so I’ll start with my favourite topic: me! I’ve just left school, finished my A levels [pulls face] and waiting for the results in August [closes eyes, sighs noisily]. Don’t ask. But the things you really need to know about me are: I literally live for fashion and beauty. I swear, without shopping, I would die. Look. [Camera turns to film room and image jerks through into another.]

      This is my bedroom [camera pans over white walls, oak beams] and this [flings door open, automatic spotlights shine on rails of clothing] isn’t all of it either; I’ve got another wardrobe in my