Prime Time by Jane Wenham-Jones

terrible blouse that girl next to me had on …’
    She kept up a joyful commentary all through Maureen and Jean and Brian, while I cringed inside, waiting for the moment when I would start speaking.
    â€˜Ah! Here you are,’ yelled Charlotte as the camera panned in so horribly close you could see the hairs up my nose. My voice sounded strange and my hands were flapping about all over the place but I looked calmer than I remember feeling.
    â€˜I had no idea I pulled all those faces when I speak,’ I said in wonder.
    â€˜Oh yes,’ said Charlotte airily. ‘You’ve always looked freaky as soon as you get excited about anything. Hey, look at you now,’ she shrieked. ‘Oh my God, Lu – look, look !’
    My face was contorted into the sort of “snarl like a wolf” expression recommended on the Save-Yourself-Surgery video of facial exercises that had been Charlotte’s idea of a witty birthday present, and I was waving both arms now.
    I turned away and groaned.
    â€˜You tell ’em, love,’ said Charlotte, grinning. I looked back briefly as the camera panned into my open mouth, while my voice rose in a crescendo. Back on my own sofa, I blocked my ears and firmly shut my eyes …
    The phone rang almost as soon as the credits began to roll.
    â€˜Oh Lord, I hope that’s not my mother,’ I said. ‘If she’s seen it there’ll be hell to pay. She’ll be saying I should have sat up straighter and why wasn’t I wearing a nice navy suit with my hair set?’
    But it was Alicia.
    â€˜Did you see it?’ she cried, the moment I picked up the receiver. ‘I’m sitting here with Gran – we’ve been pissing ourselves laughing.’
    â€˜I’m sitting here groaning,’ I told her. ‘I can’t believe how awful I looked.’
    â€˜You looked cool,’ said Alicia dismissively, ‘and I reckon we made a jolly good team. Now, I’ve downloaded the form for this cookery programme, and filled in most of it. All you have to do is answer your questions and get them back to me – what’s your email address?’
    â€˜Oh no, I really don’t think –’
    â€˜Yes – go on. They definitely do your make-up on this one – I told you my friend Shirley’s been on. And one of you wins five hundred quid – we can split it, whoever it is. Come on Laura – £250 for a few hours and a bit of a laugh.’
    â€˜I don’t even know what I have to do.’
    â€˜Well, watch it at 5.30 p.m. – it’s funny. I’ll phone back this evening.’
    â€˜No, listen. Alicia …’
    â€˜Oh, and Gran says hi. Catch you later.’
    â€˜Where did she get my number from anyway?’ I asked Charlotte, as I put the phone down.
    â€˜I gave it to her. Oh bloody hell – look at the time. I’m supposed to be showing someone round a house at North Foreland in five minutes – must scoot.’
    She gave me a hug. ‘You TV star, you. Want to come round tonight and we’ll watch it with all the kids?’
    â€˜No, not really. I’d rather sit here with my head in a bucket.’
    â€˜I’ll see you about six. I’ll do spaghetti.’
    When she’d gone, I went upstairs to consider the delights the day held. Namely finishing the copy for a double-glazing brochure filled with plastic-looking men in suits pointing at equally plastic-looking white windows while a suitably thrilled-looking family of four stood arm in arm surveying their new heating bills, slashed to a fraction of their normal size, by the installation of Glow-Glass Windows and Doors …
    I thought about Alicia as I waited for my computer to whirr into life and yesterday’s page to come up on the screen. I didn’t want to do any more TV, that was for sure, but there was something attractive about being around young people who still had some drive. I liked