THE CAR TO TAKE ME to the television studios arrives promptly at seven-thirty the next morning.
When the doorbell rings, Mum, Dad, and I all jump, even though we’ve been waiting in a tense silence
For ten minutes.
“Well,” says Dad gruffly, glancing at his watch. “They’re here, anyway.”
Ever since I told him about the arrangements, Dad’s been predicting that the car won’t turn up and that
He’ll have to drive me to the studios himself. He even worked out a route last night, and phoned up Uncle
Malcolm as a standby. (To be honest, I think he was quite looking forward to it.)
“Oh, Becky,” says Mum in a trembling voice. “Good luck, darling.” She looks at me, then shakes her
Head. “Our little Becky, on television. I can’t believe it.”
I start to get up, but Dad puts out a restraining arm.
“Now, before you answer the door, Becky,” he says. “You are sure, aren’t you? About the risk you’re
Taking.” He glances at Mum, who bites her lip.
“I’ll be fine!” I say, trying to sound as soothing as possible. “Honestly, Dad, we’ve been over it all.”
Last night, it suddenly occurred to Dad that if I went on the telly, my stalker would know where I was.
At first he was adamant I’d have to call the whole thing off – and it took an awful lot of persuasion to
Convince him and Mum I’d be perfectly safe in the TV studios. They were even talking about hiring a
Body-guard, can you believe it? I mean, what on earth would I look like, turning up with a bodyguard?
Actually I’d look pretty cool and mysterious, wouldn’t I? That might have been quite a good idea.
The doorbell rings again and I leap to my feet.
“Well,” says Dad. “You just be careful.”
don’t worry!” I say, picking up my bag. I walk to the door calmly, trying not to give away how
Excited I feel. Inside I feel as light as a bubble.
I just can’t believe how well everything’s going. Not only am I going to be on the telly, but everyone’s
Being so nice to me! Yesterday I had several phone conversations with an assistant producer of Morning
Coffee, who’s a really sweet girl called Zelda. We went over exactly what I was going to say on the
Program, then she arranged for a car to come and pick me up – and when I told her I was at my parents’
House with none of my clothes handy, she thought for a bit – then said I could choose something to wear
From the wardrobe. I mean, how cool is that? Choosing any outfit I like from the wardrobe! Maybe
They’ll let me keep it afterward, too.
As I open the front door, my stomach gives an excited leap. There, waiting in the drive, is a portly,
Middle-aged man in a blue blazer and cap, standing next to a shiny black car. My own private chauffeur!
This just gets better and better.
“Miss Bloomwood?” says the driver.
“Yes,” I say, unable to stop myself from grinning in delight. I’m about to reach for the door handle – but
He gets there before me, opens the car door with a flourish, and stands to attention, waiting for me to get
In. God, this is like being a film star or something!
I glance back toward the house and see Mum and Dad stand-ing on the front step, both looking utterly
“Well – bye then!” I say, trying to sound casual, as though I always ride around in a chauffeur-driven
Car. “See you later!”
“Becky, is that you?” comes a voice from next door, and Janice appears on the other side of the hedge
In her dressing gown.