Free Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes by Sue Watson Page A

altar.” I looked at Sam and after a few seconds of mutual horror I just started to laugh, then he started to laugh. As we climbed out of the van the crew were looking at us, waiting for a reaction and when they saw that the director and producer were holding each other up and howling hysterically they started too. It wasn’t long before the whole crew were rolling around in the mud and Denise was pole dancing round the sound mic.
    “I will never work in telly again,” I announced, to anyone who would listen, “but what a send off.”

7 - Family Fun Day
     
    The next morning I woke to the sound of a ringing telephone cutting like a knife through my skull. I was so hung over I couldn’t even think of breakfast – which is usually my first thought of the day. Our response to the disastrous show the previous evening had been to fall into the nearest pub and get wasted. As I gently picked up the receiver, snippets of the evening came back to haunt me. Al and Gerard singing karaoke, both fighting to be Lily Allen, and me and Denise drinking weird cocktails until way past last orders. I was wondering what a glass of ‘Rampant Monkey’ actually consisted of as I held the phone gently to my ear.
    “Stella, its Peter here. I insist you come down to the set immediately,” was all I heard. This had the effect of a bucket of cold water and I just knew this was bad news and I was about to be sacked.
    I gathered myself together, dragged on some clothes and staggered to the set. When I arrived the garden was empty, with no sign of Peter, or anyone else for that matter. In the silence I heard the hopeful chink of crockery and my Pavlovian response was to head for the catering tent. At times like this I never saw the point of fight or flight – why do any of that when you could eat? I decided to wait for Peter and console myself with something tasty. Approaching the tent, I swept back the canvas doorway and was greeted with loud crockery rattling and shouts of “Hurrah!” I couldn’t believe it: everyone was there and the catering tent was decorated with balloons and streamers. Through the many faces I could see Peter holding a glass of what looked like champagne. Was I still dreaming?
    “We’re a hit,” came Al’s excited voice from my side. “The ratings are through the roof! We’re already the most watched on BBC iPlayer, and don’t get me started on You Tube.”
    I half smiled, by now convinced this was definitely an alcohol-fuelled dream. Then I was enveloped by Peter; “Stella! My love! Congratulations and thank you. That was pure comedy. Another series will be in the bag by lunchtime!” It slowly dawned on me that I might actually be awake after all and my jaw hit the floor. “Everyone’s talking about it,” he continued. “It was so real, they’re saying. Glad you took my advice, I told you to keep it loose, my love.” He gave me a sleazy wink. I couldn’t remember the Head Gardener ever giving me that bit of ‘advice’.
    Oh well, I thought, now isn’t the time to resent him taking the credit, I should just enjoy the success . I sipped the glass of cold champagne thrust into my hand by Al and tried not to move my aching head. I nodded and smiled at everyone and laughed along politely at the amazing – and frankly, unexpected – positive comments. A disaster live on air had turned into an overnight success and instead of being sacked, I was applauded. That was TV for you.
    I looked round the tent at all the smiling faces and at Al jumping up and down and hugging Gerard. Of course I was delighted the show was a success but I found I couldn’t completely enjoy the moment without worrying about the havoc it would cause at home. I was happy and relieved, but my underlying emotion was panic. If this series was going to be as big as Peter was suggesting then the producer would need to be here 24/7 for the next hundred years!
    Mum called me the next day to congratulate me on the success of the first show.