Christmas Cracker 3-Book Collection. Lindsey Kelk

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СКАЧАТЬ show, Kelly Cooper Come Instore, finds love with sexy singer …

      I want the ground to open up and drag me in. It’s not true – I haven’t found new love. It’s surreal having my private life dissected in the media. I’m mortified. And where did they get the picture? Dad says it’s of me standing outside Carrington’s chatting on my phone, so I can only assume I was on a tea break and that I’m being stalked by paparazzi. Oh God. And they don’t hang around, these sleb hunters – the scene with Dan Kilby was only this morning, which just goes to show how quickly they pounce. I’m not sure I can keep up with it all. Not so long ago I was ordinary Georgie Hart from Mulberry-On-Sea, looking forward to spending Christmas with my new boyfriend, and now … well, it seems I’m a reality TV star linked to one of the most famous singers in the country.

      ‘Dad, you know how the media make things up, embellish the facts,’ I say quietly, turning towards the window, conscious of the other passengers all whispering and nudging each other before glancing in my direction. Dad should know more than anyone what it feels like to be suddenly thrust into the limelight. From the moment he was arrested back then, the newspapers wouldn’t leave him alone. Mum used to get so upset on reading lies about him having had secret women on the side, or how he’d ‘been fiddling the books’ at the bank where he worked for years – I guess that bit is sort of true, but not the rest, I’m sure of it. Even after Dad went to prison, he still sent Mum cards saying how much he loved her. And Mum still loved him – right up to the day she died. She told me so at the end.

      ‘Yes, of course,’ Dad says. ‘But this is different, darling. If you’re on the telly, then you’re a celebrity, famous, and we all love celebrities. Everyone here is so chuffed. The curtain-twitchers are all saying they could tell right away, just from your movie-star hair and stylish clothes. We all knew there was something going on in town, but nobody guessed it would involve Carrington’s department store. You know, Georgie, one of the old dears even wants me to get your autograph for her niece.’

      ‘Oh stop it, Dad,’ I chide, and then smile at how he always refers to people his own age as ‘old’, as if he’s a mere boy.

      ‘Enjoy it, Georgie. A bit of the high life doesn’t come around very often,’ he replies, echoing Mrs Grace’s words. ‘And who is this “sexy singer”?’

      ‘Um, he’s called Dan. I’ll tell you about it later. But it was all set up for the cameras, Dad.’

      ‘Phew. I was worried it might be that no-good what’s-his-name, Brett. He liked singing; didn’t you meet him in one of those karaoke bars?’ Dad sighs.

      ‘Yes. But don’t worry, he’s definitely history.’ I pause. ‘Dad, sorry, I’ll have to call you back.’ I quickly shove the phone in my pocket as a group of teenage girls run down the bus and occupy all the seats around me.

      ‘Are you Georgie from Carrington’s?’ A girl with a pierced eyebrow and a red Santa hat over dodgy hair extensions asks me.

      ‘Why do you want to know?’ I reply cautiously, just in case she’s some kind of crazeee looper about to happy-slap me in front of her crew.

      ‘Don’t be anxious babe, it’s me, Madison.’ She grins as if we’re BFFs and grabs my arm, making my heart speed up. ‘Me and the girls saw you on the telly. Can Leanne take a picture of us?’

      ‘Err, sure … who’s Leanne?’ Madison points to a pretty girl with a seriously extreme Ronseal tan wearing a neon pink Juicy tracksuit under a faux fur gilet. She legs it down the bus clutching her smartphone and, before I can say ‘cheese’, Madison has flung her arm around my shoulders, pulled me in tight, and several pictures have been taken.

      ‘Thanks babe.’ Madison jumps up. ‘Nice to see you keeping it real.’ I raise one eyebrow and smile vaguely, wondering what she means.

      ‘The bus!’ She points a long acrylic fingernail around the top deck. ‘Thought you’d have a driver, now you’re a sleb.’

      ‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ I grin. Talk about surreal – a few weeks ago, celebrities were just people I read about in magazines, and now I’m one of them.

      The bus stops and the girls leave, so I call Dad back and he tactfully chats about the weather and his neighbours, before asking if there’s anything special he can get me for Christmas. Yes, Tom! Preferably naked, lying on a sheepskin rug in that log cabin we mused about before he went weird and dumped me … Hmmm, I suggest a woolly hat and scarf gift set instead, and Dad seems happy with that.

      ‘So when will we see you again?’ The twitchy, uneasy feeling from that day in Nancy’s flat returns. I’m not used to Dad saying ‘we’. I feel as if I’m betraying Mum somehow. Even though she’s not here any more. ‘Nancy is going to cook her outstandingly delicious beef stew and dumplings,’ he adds. ‘So make sure you come hungry. I’m still full after last Sunday’s feast,’ he chuckles.

      ‘Can I let you know Dad? I haven’t got my diary to hand,’ I say, quickly rummaging in my bag to check.

      ‘Of course, darling. Oh hang on. Nancy’s saying something.’ There’s a muffled, scratchy pause, as if Dad has the phone pressed into his jumper. I stop rummaging. I can just about hear Nancy’s voice in the background – she’s saying something about ‘understanding’ and ‘best do it now’.

       Do what now?

      But before I can work it out, Dad is back on the line.

      ‘Just let me know when suits you, sweetheart. I know how busy you are.’

      ‘Dad?’ I ask, and then hesitate.

      ‘What is it, Georgie?’

      ‘Err, it’s … oh no, don’t worry, it’s nothing.’ I bite my lip.

      ‘OK. But you know you can talk to me. I’m always here for you.’

      ‘I know Dad.’ My voice softens. It’s lovely having him back in my life. ‘Well, there was something – I was just wondering if we could visit Mum’s grave some time.’

      ‘Of course, sweetheart. That would be wonderful. We can make a day of it. Go for lunch or a stroll along the promenade, if the weather isn’t too chilly, that is, just like we used to when you were a little girl. Do you remember? Mum used to make banana sandwiches and we’d eat them on the benches next to the pier, and drink cans of ginger beer before devouring those massive Mr Whippy ice creams with chocolate flakes on from the van. And you never see those ice-cream vans any more.’

      ‘Yes. I remember. Mum used to say that when the music was playing it meant the man had run out of lollies, and then spoil it all by laughing, so I always knew she was joking.’

      ‘But you still fell for it every time, if only for a couple of seconds,’ he says, sounding animated and light. And for some reason, tears sting in my eyes. I wonder what Mum would have thought of me being on the telly. Proud, I reckon, and it’s such a shame she’s missing out. Mum was always a little in awe of anyone out of the ordinary. It was my thirteenth birthday not long before she died, and the nurses in the hospital organised a little party; they even invited someone from the local football team to turn up and give me a teddy bear – Mum went all fan-girl. I chew the inside of my cheek as a horrible, immature thought pops into my head. I hope Dad doesn’t invite Nancy along on our day out. I quickly shove the thought away – I like Nancy and it’s nice that Dad has met her.

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