My Pear-Shaped Life. Carmel Harrington

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СКАЧАТЬ the Atkins diet and put on weight when they cut out carbs. I was having butter on my cream, on my cheese, on my rib-eye steak.’

      ‘Now you’re making me hungry. We better make a move though. Can’t have you missing this flight. Are you sure you’ve got everything? Passport, toothbrush, money.’

      ‘Sir, yes, sir.’ Greta saluted him.

      Twenty minutes later, he pulled into a space in the drop-down area of Dublin Airport.

      Greta glanced up at the entrance to Terminal Two, which was several hundred feet away. Uncle Ray always seemed to go out of his way to park as far away from his destination as possible. ‘I think there’s a space out in Swords village that might be closer,’ Greta teased.

      ‘This is grand. Sure it’s not raining,’ Ray replied, switching the engine off. Ray knew the value of a large parking spot when he saw one. He’d been listening to his family slag off his parking skills for decades. The joke was on them, though: he’d managed to get through over twenty years of driving without a single dint or dang.

      ‘Thanks for the lift, Uncle Ray, you’re the best.’

      ‘My pleasure. Good luck with the audition. I’ve everything crossed for you. And don’t waste the chance for a great adventure by staying cooped up in your hotel room. Go see the sights. Madame Tussauds or the London Eye – whatever it is that you young’uns are into these days.’

      ‘The greatest adventure is what lies next on my Netflix list.’ Greta spoke with great solemnity, making Ray laugh, as she intended.

      ‘Don’t waste the pretty, Greta.’

      ‘Eh?’ Greta asked.

      ‘You’re young and beautiful with the whole world at your feet. Don’t let it pass you by. Don’t waste the pretty.’

      Greta mock-saluted him, but felt a lump in her throat all the same. Is that what she was doing? Ray kissed her on her forehead, the way he always did, waving her goodbye as she made her way inside the airport.

      As she queued at security, Greta ran through her lines for the hundredth time. The role of Clara, the chubby best friend to the female lead in a new psychological thriller series, was one she wanted with every fibre of herself. If she got this role, she knew it would be the start of something new. Dr Gale often spoke about corners and how you never knew when it was your moment to turn a new one. This could be hers. She didn’t think she could bear another season of playing multiple mind-numbing roles with the Murder Mystery Crew. She’d worked part time for the Murder Mystery Crew for two years; they staged various whodunnit plays for hen and stag parties, and performed at the odd corporate event. While they also did the occasional private gig, most of their shows were in Grayson Castle, Wexford, at weekends. One good thing about the job, though, was that she got to spend a couple of days each week in a hotel room, away from the madness of her family. It also paid the bills while she waited for her big break, and she got to spend time with Dylan, her best friend.

      Talk of the devil … She grabbed her phone when it beeped.

      Dylan: Good luck at the audition, Silver Lady. You’ve got this.

      She smiled, thinking not for the first time how lucky she was to have Dylan in her corner. He was the stage manager with the Murder Mystery Crew and popular with all the cast as he owned a seven-seater, which drove the cast to their venue in Wexford. He also took the bookings, chased around after the talent, sorted the props, organized the hotel and kept the guests happy. She’d be lost without him.

      She contemplated ringing him, but knew that he preferred messaging to phone chats. He had a stutter, and sometimes the words just wouldn’t cooperate for him. Greta knew this bothered him, but she never really thought about it. It was just part of who Dylan was, how his brain was wired.

      They had shared a moment a year or so ago, when their friendship could have taken a turn into something else. She’d just finished their show Inspector Clueless, where she played the main role of the hapless French detective. It was a fun part to play, getting laughs for every mispronunciation or mishap she made, whilst trying to solve the inevitable murder for the guests. After the final curtain, they went for a walk in the grounds, as was their habit. They were both movie buffs and loved to analyse scenes.

      But this time, as they strolled, shoulder to shoulder, Greta felt something shift between them. It was one of those perfect nights, the air still and quiet, with a large white moon, full, throwing light and shadow into the garden. And Greta thought about every romantic comedy she’d watched, where the girl got the guy. Could she too? What would happen if she reached over to clasp Dylan’s hand in hers? Or perhaps he would throw his arm around her shoulder, then pull her into his arms, his breath warm on her cheek. Greta longed to be part of something, a couple, a world, where someone cared about her and only her.

      When they reached the entrance to the hotel, their cast mate Donna was watching them, a wave of cigarette smoke wafting into the air around her. She shouted over, jokingly, ‘You two look very cosy. Something you want to tell us?’ Greta flushed from head to toe. Had Donna somehow guessed what Greta had been fantasizing about? Was it written all over her face? She was about to tell Donna to feck off when she saw a look cross Dylan’s face. He looked horrified at Donna’s insinuation. The dream melted into the air, leaving Greta feeling silly for ever contemplating that she and Dylan should or could be anything but friends. She was happy on her own.

      As Greta inched closer to the conveyor belt at security, another moment flashed into her head. A moment where she’d almost messed up her friendship with Dylan for ever, because she stupidly … she shook her head and forced herself to shove the memory back into a place deep inside her. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. She had to focus for her audition.

      She typed a message back to Dylan, smiling through her pain, and did what she did best – when all else fails, make ’em laugh.

      Greta: I’d better not read the lines as Inspector Clueless by mistake! Can you imagine? Good moaning, this iz Clara. Do you ’ave a massage for me?

      Dylan: Never mind Inspector Clueless, all you need to do is put on your Ruby Mae costume and the job would be yours!

      Greta: Er, I told you what happened with that a few weeks back. Don’t mention the war!

      She’d played the part of Ruby Mae, a curvy, sexy saloon girl, until she’d had a wardrobe malfunction. Greta had stepped into her red and black cancan dress, but it wouldn’t go up over her thighs. It had been getting tight for months, but she’d always been able to manoeuvre her way into it, once she was wearing her Spanx knickers and slip. She stepped out of the dress and decided to put it on over her shoulders, so that she could shimmy her way into it. Several shimmies later, she was standing in her room, with a dress wedged on her shoulders. Her face was scarlet and her hair, washed and curled only twenty minutes previously, was now half stuck to her head. With two arms above her head, she couldn’t pull the damn thing either up or down.

      Greta knew she was not going to extricate herself from this situation on her own. Dylan might be her closest friend, but there was no way she was showing him her lumps and bumps. So she had no choice but to call her cast mate, Donna, for help. Skinny Donna, who had two pert boobs that defied gravity, and an even perter personality. It was the worst ten minutes of Greta’s life, as Donna squished Greta’s boobs down as flat as possible, so that she could yank the dress up and off.

      Then, when the mission was accomplished, Donna asked, ‘Shall I play СКАЧАТЬ