Page 62 of The Only Way Is Up

‘Our double act, our chemistry, our blend of personalities. Whatever you want to call it.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ Daisy crammed another plate of leftovers into the fridge. Her mother would do something magical with them tomorrow. ‘I’ll message everyone.’

‘About seven thirty,’ Justin decided. ‘I’m sure Stella mentioned a fete meeting in the church until seven.’

Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly, she’s obsessed with that bloody church fete.’

Justin laughed. ‘I think she’s found Jesus. Or Miriam. Which is kind of the same thing.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

On the twenty-eighth, Daisy got up early to let Hank out, doing a lap of the stables in the frigid morning air so the dog could sniff around and do his business. It occurred to her that any camera-wielding paparazzi lurking in the shadows would have a hell of a job convincing the tabloids that the crinkly-faced woman in wellies, pink pyjamas, a huge puffy coat and bed hair was the same dolled-up Daisy Crawford who’d gone commando and flashed her bits to the world at the NTAs. Daisy felt a million miles from the glitz and glamour of her normal life. She was surprised to discover how much she was enjoying it.

Once they were back in the cottage, Daisy hauled in a barrow of logs from one of the old stables, then built a little tepee with firelighters and kindling in the wood burner. She relished these morning rituals. There was something quite satisfying about getting her hands dirty in the woodpile at 7 a.m. You weren’t allowed to burn firewood in London, only that smokeless fuel stuff that didn’t have the same crackle or woodsmokey smell. While the fire kindled, Daisy went back outside and filled up Justin’s wheelbarrow too. It had never been formally discussed, but whichever one of them got up first filled up both barrows. It was a small thing, but rather lovely to open the front door and find a pile of dry logs waiting to be carried inside.

Once the wood burner was blazing and she’d fed Hank and made a cup of tea, Daisy huddled under a blanket with the dog beside her and called Katie. It was a Monday-morning ritual to check in with her manager and see what rubbish had appeared in the press over the weekend, and it saved Daisy googling her own name, which was never good for anyone’s self-esteem. But since it was Christmas week and Katie had gone home to her girlfriend’s family in Belfast, they’d delayed their call to Friday instead.

‘There’s nothing much,’ said Katie, as Hank wriggled onto his back so Daisy could scratch his belly. ‘Just a snippet in the Sun Showbiz about a rumour you’re not loving village life.’

‘Really?’ asked Daisy, intrigued. ‘What have I done now?’

‘You’ve been spotted hanging out with Simon and his husband, not getting involved with the community, blah-blah-blah,’ Katie dismissed. ‘The implication is you hate the locals so much that you’re shipping in friends and family from London.’

‘Jesus,’ said Daisy. ‘It’s Simon’s cottage!’ She sighed. ‘I’m guessing someone heard me having words with my mum in the pub. She’s trying to get me involved in the village fete.’

‘What’s wrong with the village fete?’ Daisy could hear the smile in Katie’s voice.

‘It’s not until the end of January,’ replied Daisy. ‘And I’d kind of hoped to be out of here by then.’

‘Well, I’ll leave that one up to you,’ said Katie, ‘but in the meantime try to embrace rural life. Plant a tree or something. Go on a ramble.’

‘Thanks for the advice,’ Daisy replied drolly. ‘I’ve got a dog, does that count?’

‘Wait, what?’ said Katie. ‘When did you get a dog?’

‘It’s Simon and Archie’s.’ Daisy stroked Hank’s fat little belly. ‘I’m looking after him for a few weeks.’

‘Can you keep him for longer? Everybody loves a dog.’

‘No,’ Daisy laughed, ‘although he is kind of adorable.’ Hank’s upside-down face made it look like he was smiling, so Daisy took a quick photo with her phone. She’d send it to Archie later.

‘Any news from Christian?’ asked Katie.

‘Not a peep. He’s locked up in the sex clinic for a month then I’m guessing he’s heading back to London. I’ll let you know if he gets in touch.’

‘OK, thanks. What are you doing this week?’ Daisy could hear Katie flicking through the pages of her notebook.

‘Writing the intro for the book,’ Daisy replied, ‘and I need to start getting fit again. I’ve put on a few pounds without my trainer yelling at me. So some long dog walks, maybe a bit of tennis. All good, wholesome stuff.’

‘Excellent!’ Katie sounded satisfied. ‘Roger’s been in touch with some work offers, you know he doesn’t believe in Christmas. There’s an email in your inbox.’ Roger had been Daisy’s agent since before she’d landed the job on Spotlight, and he and Katie had a solid working relationship. It wasn’t always the case with agents and managers, but since they each took ten per cent of Daisy’s earnings it was in both their interests to collaborate.

‘Give me the highlights,’ said Daisy, taking a swig of her tea.

‘My favourite is the luxury knicker brand that wants you to be their ambassador,’ Katie smirked.

Daisy spluttered tea over the blanket and Hank. ‘You’re kidding,’ she gasped.

‘I’m not,’ said Katie. ‘Apparently they’re willing to pay a hundred grand for two seasonal photo shoots and a couple of social posts a month, plus a shitload of free knickers. Roger says to call him if you want more info.’