What Happens in France Read online

  ‘Excuse me? Why are there so many men here?’ she asked the four men in front of her. They gave her a bemused look that suggested she really ought to know the reason they were waiting. ‘Cricket, love. It’s the 20/20 match at Edgbaston.’

  ‘In this weather?’

  ‘It’s only a shower,’ replied the man. ‘It’s supposed to clear up according to the forecast.’

  His colleague intervened. ‘If you need to get to work, I’d phone in and let them know you’ll be late. We’ve been here thirty minutes already.’

  ‘I have to get to an audition,’ she continued, her brain thinking over the possibilities open to her.

  ‘What sort of audition?’ asked the man, interest flickering in his eyes as he tried to place Bryony.

  ‘For a new game show.’

  The man’s interest faded. He was obviously not talking to a celebrity. ‘I’d walk to it if I were you. It’d be quicker than hanging about here. Good luck.’

  She thanked him and darted away from the queue, punching the address into Google Maps on her mobile phone as she scurried down the road. If she ran, she might make it in time. The thought didn’t appeal. Running was definitely not her strong point.

  Bryony squelched through puddles and scooted between people as she sprinted towards the theatre. Every few minutes, she checked her progress. It was hopeless in the rain. Large raindrops plopped onto the mobile’s screen and made it almost impossible to see the route. She drew a deep breath. The British weather was not going to get the better of her. She shouldered her bag and jogged towards the library. By the time she reached the park behind it her breath was coming in ragged gasps. She slowed to a trot and ploughed on, uncomfortable in her wet shoes – her best ones – that had filled with water. The familiar pain in her hip was becoming noticeable. She would pay for this folly later. She rubbed at it and threw a glance at her phone. It was not much further. She thought of the reason she was auditioning and dragged onwards, trousers splattered with brown water, hair plastered to her head.

  The theatre came into sight at last. She slowed to catch her breath, arrived at the front door and entered the building. The entrance was filled with hopeful candidates for the show. Men and women of all ages looked up as she stood in the foyer, rain dripping from her jacket and puddling around her feet.

  ‘Hi,’ she said to no one in particular. ‘It appears to be raining cats and dogs and I think I might have stepped in a poodle,’ she added, earning a few smiles. A girl in her twenties approached, her face welcoming and bright.

  She studied a clipboard. ‘You must be Bryony Masters?’

  Bryony nodded, aware of the looks she was now attracting.

  ‘We were about to cross you off the list as a no-show. Bad journey?’ the girl asked.

  ‘You could say that. There were no taxis and I had to do an impression of Usain Bolt to get here on time,’ mumbled Bryony as her eyes lighted on a grinning face she recognized. What’s Lewis doing here? He was leaning against a wall chatting to a slim young man with ramrod posture, lean physique, coffee-brown eyes and pale blonde hair. There was an aura of a matinée idol about Lewis’s companion, even dressed as he was in a baby-pink jumper and jeans. Lewis twiddled his fingers at her before saying something to the young man who looked up and also waved at her. She returned the gesture and turned her attention to the girl; her name badge stated she was ‘Laura Perry – Assistant Producer’.

  ‘Laura, would you mind if I nipped to the toilet to dry off a bit? I’m in danger of flooding the entrance at the moment,’ she added, pointing at the damp footprints she had trailed in.

  ‘Go ahead. We’re still setting up, so sign in at reception, collect your name badge and get sorted out. It’s horrible when you run late, isn’t it? We left at four this morning to get here and we’re not ready. I need to get a photo of you.’

  Laura manoeuvred Bryony against the far wall and snapped her camera before Bryony could protest.

  ‘It’s only for identification purposes. No one important will see it.’ Laura showed her the image.

  ‘Thank goodness it won’t be my next passport photo,’ replied Bryony with a grimace. ‘Although, it might be an improvement on the one I currently have.’

  Laura’s lips twitched upwards. ‘You look fine. Honestly. See you in a few minutes.’ She disappeared through a door marked ‘Private’. The wannabe contestants resumed their conversations. Bryony squelched to the toilet where she struck a contorted pose and attempted to dry her hair under the hand dryer. It was hopeless. There was little warm air and the dryer kept shutting off. She gave up and ran her fingers through her flaxen locks, trying to lift them from her crown. They adopted a tousled, fresh-out-of-bed look. Her mascara had run slightly so she had smoky, smudged eyes adding to the effect that she had only recently tumbled out from under the duvet after a night of hot sex – if only! Hopefully her intellect would see her through this process and the producers would ignore her looks. She patted the insides of her shoes with some scrunched-up toilet roll and sighed. They were ruined. Her hip throbbed. She wondered for the umpteenth time if she was doing the right thing by auditioning. A tapping at the door alerted her to the fact she needed to get a move on. Outside stood a middle-aged woman in an ill-fitting black dress over which she wore a leather biker’s jacket. The effect was spoiled by the evident bulges of undergarments that squeezed her stomach so tightly it ballooned under her breasts, making her appear to be wearing several small tyres around her midriff. Her hair had been expertly cut into a short, severe style that did not suit her lean face, and the black-framed glasses she wore accentuated her sallow complexion.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you. I need a pee. I’m so nervous and my Spandex is squishing my bladder. I think I bought a size too small. This is the fifth time I’ve had to go to the loo since I left home. Do you mind?’

  ‘It’s not a problem. I’m done.’

  Bryony returned to the entrance and attached her name badge. As soon as it was fixed in place, she started towards Lewis but felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned to face the woman who had scurried into the toilets.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ asked the woman. ‘Do you think I’ve captured the Helen Mirren look?’

  Bryony smiled and politely responded, ‘That’s who you reminded me of.’

  The woman beamed at her. ‘Yes. I bought this outfit especially for the audition and I had my hair cut at a top salon. It cost a fortune. It’ll be worth it when they select me to go through. It was my husband who remarked on my resemblance to Dame Helen. Have you heard the latest? The presenter is going to be Anneka Rice? I’ll need a few more outfits I think for the actual show if I’m going to be standing near her. She’s so glamorous.’

  ‘Really?’ Bryony’s pulse beat faster. Hannah had loved watching Anneka in the 80s.

  ‘I overheard the producers discussing it. I think it’s supposed to be a secret for now, so don’t say anything to anyone. I do admire Anneka Rice.’ She tugged at her skirt. ‘Sure I look okay?’

  ‘You look very nice. I wish I’d made as much effort,’ replied Bryony, who was wearing dark blue jeans and a checked red shirt she had owned for a few years. If the producers were looking for stylish people in flash outfits, they wouldn’t choose her. Bryony had already noted the woman in a slinky red dress with skyscraper red heels. She was far more striking than Bryony, as was the girl with purple hair and the lady who was wearing a trouser suit and striped tie. The non-look-a-like Helen Mirren suddenly became talkative and insisted on telling Bryony how much she knew about literature and nature. Bryony was itching to get away and talk to Lewis but couldn’t escape from her.

  She was relieved when Laura reappeared and invited them in for the audition and she could get rid of the woman at last. Those who were seated stood as one and shuffled after Laura like obedient sheep, leaving behind an atmosphere of damp clothes mixed with anticipation, nervousness and excitement. Lewis and the young man drew level with her, and Lewis halted in front o
f her.

  ‘Good luck, Lewis,’ said the man. ‘And you, Bryony,’ he added, glancing at her name tag. She detected a transatlantic drawl.

  ‘You too, Oscar.’

  The young man rushed ahead to catch up with those in front. Lewis trailed behind with Bryony.

  ‘I certainly didn’t expect to see you here. I see you ditched the idea of wearing the cute kitchen maid’s outfit for the audition?’

  ‘Yeah. I decided to go for the drowned rat look instead. How come you managed to dodge the rain?’

  ‘I took one look at that ridiculous queue for taxis and worked out I’d be late if I waited in it, so I was a bit naughty, walked back inside the train station to where the taxis drop off, flagged one down and asked the driver to bring me here. I told him it was very urgent and he let me jump in there rather than join the queue outside.’

  Bryony mentally kicked herself. She should have done the same.

  ‘Ever auditioned for a game show before?’

  ‘No, it’s my first one,’ she replied.

  ‘I know quite a few people who’ve done this,’ he whispered. ‘A word of advice – don’t try too hard to answer the questions correctly. They’re not looking for geniuses. If you know the answers, deliberately get one or two of the questions wrong and make a real show of disappointment when they reveal the answer. They’re searching for the most entertaining contestants not clever clogs ones. It isn’t Mastermind or University Challenge.’

  ‘Oh. Okay. Thanks for the advice. I could do with some help to get through,’ she replied.

  ‘Also try to be enthusiastic and unique. It’s good to be dissimilar to the other participants. Although it might be a good idea not to chase anyone around the room brandishing a wooden spoon, even if they enjoy it,’ he added as an afterthought, a smile tugging at his lips. ‘Stay animated, talk to the crew and most importantly, be yourself.’

  ‘That will surely make them discount me.’

  ‘Far from it. Break a leg,’ he murmured with a conspiratorial wink as they entered a large conference room. Chairs lined the room on one side while a team of three people – two young women and a man – sat opposite them. It looked like the biggest group interview Bryony had ever seen. She took a seat in the middle. The woman in the leather jacket dropped down beside her.

  ‘Hi again. I’m so excited. My husband assured me I would be brilliant at this quiz. What do you know about geography? That’s my weakest area of knowledge. If it’s a question about countries or television shows then I’m going to be stumped. I tried learning about the characters of all the soap operas because that sort of thing always comes up, doesn’t it? Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Daphne.’

  Bryony wished the woman would let her gather her thoughts.

  ‘Hi Daphne. I’m Bryony,’ she responded, pointing to her badge. The woman laughed nervously. Again, Laura came to the rescue.

  ‘My apologies for the delay in getting started today. So, welcome to you all. I’m Laura. Sitting next to me is Jackson and hidden behind a pile of application forms is Helena. We’re part of the production team and have been out and about all month interviewing potential candidates for the fantastic game show What Happens in…’

  A man in his early forties with a neatly trimmed ginger moustache and dressed in a shirt and trousers that looked to be two sizes too large for him cheered.

  ‘Congratulations on being selected for this audition. We’ve been inundated with applications, so to get to this position is an achievement in itself. Unfortunately, we won’t be able to choose you all, so if you don’t get through today, please keep checking your emails as we might choose you for a show at a later date.’ Laura turned to Helena for a moment.

  Daphne nudged Bryony. ‘Some of these people don’t look like they know very much about anything,’ she hissed. ‘I reckon I’ll ace it.’ Bryony ignored her. Lewis was looking relaxed, his arm casually draped over the back of his chair as he listened to the bug-eyed lady, who was leaning into him and talking in a hushed whisper.

  Laura nodded to Helena and continued, ‘We’ll start by asking you to say a little about yourselves and what you’d do if you won any money. Keep it short, sharp and punchy. Try and pretend you’re at the start of show and the host is asking you to introduce yourselves. I’ll get the ball rolling for you.’ She gave a cough, stood tall and spoke. ‘I’m Laura, twenty-eight, from London. I’m the assistant producer on the fabulous game show What Happens in... I enjoy watching football even though I’m a Crystal Palace supporter and have had to suffer a few disappointments. I’d use any winnings for a down payment on a flat, although with house prices as high as they are in London, I’ll probably need to go on every quiz show there is and win all of them.’

  There were a few titters in the room. ‘So, we’ll go from right to left and begin with Debbie. Please stand up, Debbie, and tell us about yourself.’

  Debbie rose and tugged at her red silk dress that sat snugly on her lithe frame. Bracelets jangled on her arm as she wafted her perfectly manicured hands nervously.

  ‘I’m Debbie. I’m thirty-six. Actually, I’ll be thirty-seven tomorrow. I’m a beautician and I live in Sutton Coldfield. I have two teenage children and I like… I like…’ Debbie looked about anxiously. ‘Horse riding and yoga. I would spend any money on a new horse. Mine is getting too old to ride,’ she continued then sat down.

  ‘Thank you, Debbie. Jim?’

  A man in his sixties rose, standing to attention as he spoke. ‘Good morning. My name is James, known to everyone as Jim. I’m retired now but I used to be in the army. I was in the catering corps and I still enjoy cooking today. I’m a whiz at making Yorkshire puddings and roast beef. I don’t have any hobbies unless you count looking after two grandchildren every afternoon as a hobby. And yes, I’d spend all my winnings on them.’

  There were a few more laughs. The next contestant rose. It was the beautiful young man who had been talking to Lewis in the lobby.

  ‘I’m Oscar, from America, New York, but now living in London. I should have been at the London audition but I’m performing in Birmingham so these kind people let me come here today. I’m a professional ballet dancer. I have a little pug dog named after the late American rapper Biggie Smalls. My Biggie Smalls has his own Facebook page, Instagram and Twitter accounts, so I post about what he’s been doing. He’s very trendy and enjoys posing in hats, jumpers and jewellery, so I’ll spend anything I win on buying him new outfits to wear for his fans.’ Oscar bowed and sat down.

  Bryony zoned out and wondered what exactly she would say. The room became very small as she felt pulled back in time. Back to the day of the accident that changed their lives…

  * * *

  It’s so sunny it’s like someone has turned on a lamp outside. She squints as Hannah holds her hand and pulls her to the gate. They’re going to the park. Hannah is in a bad mood.

  ‘You’re such a brat,’ she says. ‘You always get your own way because you’ve been ill. I didn’t want to take you to the park and now I have to.’

  Bryony doesn’t feel guilty. Hannah often gets cross with her when she has to look after her and soon gets out of her bad mood.

  Hannah is very irritated. She won’t even look at Bryony as they go down the path but Bryony doesn’t mind. Hannah will cheer up when they get to the park. Bryony is wearing her new duffle coat. It’s sunny but it’s cold outside and the air nips at her nose and her eyes, making them run. Mummy made sure she tied Bryony’s scarf on properly in case it blows off. She doesn’t want Bryony to get ill again. Bryony has been off school too much recently, recovering from an illness that has left her struck by another condition – one that makes her twitch and her muscles jerk uncontrollably. She can’t afford to catch a chill on top of all her other problems.

  As they leave the house, Rob rounds the corner and Hannah slows to a reluctant halt, grumbling, ‘That’s all I need. It’s your fault, Bryony. If I’d stayed inside he wouldn’t have dared talk to me.’ />
  He’s wearing a beanie hat and the collar of his coat is turned up. He puts out a hand, rests it on Hannah’s shoulder. ‘We need to talk,’ he says.

  * * *

  Bryony forced the memory into the back of her mind. Panic rose in her chest and she struggled to fight it. She could do this. She ought to try and be witty. The truth alone was not going to get her on the show. Before she knew it, she had returned to the present and Daphne was standing up. She tugged at her jacket.

  ‘I’m Daphne, a head teacher from Nottingham. I’m a member of a local quiz team called “The Head Teachers”. I’d spend any winnings on a new kitchen for my house. It needs updating.’ She sat down looking very pleased with herself.

  Bryony got to her feet. ‘Hi everyone. I’m Bryony, from Derby. I enjoy murdering people.’ There was a gasp then someone sniggered. Bryony smiled. ‘For the record, only at murder mystery parties. I also like tackling challenges that scare me so I’ve abseiled down the Shard and earlier this year I dived with sharks – they’re quite scary although the sight of me in a mask and a wetsuit might have given them a shock too.’ There were some more chuckles. ‘I’m searching for my sister who ran away from home years ago and I’m hoping she’ll watch the show, see me and get in contact. Our father is very ill and we need her to return.’ The room went quiet and Bryony wondered if she’d just said the wrong thing. She aimed at levity again. ‘If I won any money, I’d spend my winnings on some new shoes,’ she added, looking down at hers. They had curled up slightly as they dried out. ‘Lots and lots of expensive shoes,’ she continued, earning some laughs. ‘And some waterproof boots.’ She plopped back down on her seat, glad the initial ordeal was over, and listened to the other contestants, keen to hear Lewis.