From Notting Hill to New York . . . Actually Read Free Page B

without becoming too overloaded … when she whips a white gown away from the person sitting in the chair next to me.
    ‘There, all done, Mr Firth,’ she says, coyly smiling at him in the mirror.
    ‘Thank you, Michelle,’ he says, a charming smile spreading across his newly made-up face. He lifts himself from the chair and glances in my direction. ‘Don’t worry – you’re in safe hands. Probably bump into you in the green room in a few minutes,’ is his parting comment, before he’s suddenly surrounded by people wearing headphones and carrying clipboards. Most that gather in the gang don’t actually seem to have a reason to be there, but just need to be passing by at the time because, hey, it
is
Colin Firth.
    ‘Now,’ Michelle says, securing a clean white gown around my neck so I can’t escape. ‘Let’s have a look at you.’
    I should protest. I should say, ‘No, I’m not supposed to be sitting here. I’m not a fitness expert,’ or whatever it is Rich thinks I am. But I can’t. Colin Firth has just spoken to me. Mr Darcy has just said, ‘See you in the green room in a few minutes.’ I’m not going to turn down an invitation like that, am I?
    Michelle spends the next few minutes making me look fit to appear on TV. This involves spraying quite a lot of very dark base on me so I lookas if I’ve been under a sunbed a tad too long, with a sort of spraying wand that Michelle explains is specifically made for high-definition television make-up. Then she applies more eye make-up and blusher than I’ve ever worn on an evening out, let alone to give me the healthy glow of a fitness instructor first thing in the morning. But Michelle insists it’s all necessary under the bright TV lights, so I go along with it while I try to make it sound as if I know something about exercise and fitness. I throw in a few words I’ve heard Davina mention in her DVDs like ‘quads’ and ‘hamstrings’, except while I’m doing all this I’m also trying to plan what I might say to Colin in the green room, and my already overwrought mind mistakenly blabs ‘Cheestrings’. I hurriedly correct myself and I don’t think Michelle noticed, and if she did, she’s too well trained to point it out.
    My plan is that once I’ve spent a few minutes chatting up – sorry –
conversing politely
with Colin, on subjects like where he keeps his Oscar, I’ll casually sneak out of the green room (I wonder what shade of green it’ll be? My skin will look awful if the room is painted the wrong tone) just before I’m called to go on air, and then I can go and find my own Oscar. I wonder if he’s missed me yet …
    Make-up done, I’m hurried along another corridor to a pretty-looking room which, thank goodness, isn’t green at all, where there are delicious-looking refreshments waiting for me on a table, and a comfy sofa witha couple of other people already sitting on it. No sign of Colin.
    ‘Just take a seat. Lucy, she’s the floor manager on this morning’s show, she’ll be in to have a chat about your segment in a moment,’ Rich says, looking at his clipboard.
    I look hungrily at the croissant on the table in front of me. We hadn’t had breakfast this morning because we were on our way to the gym, and my stomach is beginning to complain.
    ‘Shame you can’t have any,’ Rich says, glancing over his clipboard at me. ‘They’re delicious, we get them from a little bakery down the road.’
    ‘I can’t?’ I enquire sadly. Maybe they were for the A-list guests only.
    ‘You can’t work out on a full stomach, can you?’ he says, looking at me with a puzzled expression.
    ‘No … no, of course not.’
    The door opens and my settee-mates are ushered through it, presumably for their five minutes of TV fame. Rich still hovers by the door.
    ‘Will Colin be joining us?’ I enquire as casually as I can. If he isn’t coming back in here then I really need to think about making my escape. And soon.
    Rich looks at his watch.