Page 33 of The Start of Something Wonderful

‘Emily, can you hear me?’ comes an anonymous voice.

‘Yes.’

‘Say something please, so Gary can check thesound levels.’

‘Erm … she sells seashells on the sea …’

‘No need to shout, and mind your sibilants. Now, if I speak to you whilst we’re on air, whatever you do, do not acknowledge me, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Ignore the camera, and direct all your comments to Annabelle. Take your lead from her. Remember the presenter’s mantra: P-R-N. Personalise, Romanticise, be Natural. Imagine you’rehaving a chat over the garden fence. Okay? Aaand five, four, three, two, one.’

‘Good afternoon, and welcome to our brand-new Victorian lifestyle programme,’ gushes the oh-so-glam Annabelle, switching on her glossy-lipped, Hollywood smile, bang on cue. ‘Joining me today is Victorianexpert, Emily Forsyth, who is here to talk to us about anexcitingnew range of home products, inspired by theVictorian era.’ Leaning towards me with an outstretched, perfectly manicured hand, she continues in her saccharine timbre, ‘Hello, and welcome.’

‘Hello.’ I force a smile, lips sticking to my teeth.

‘Now, Emily, do tell us, when did this passion for Victoriana start?’

I wrestle with my mind, which is ordering me to tell the truth:six days ago, when I got this job.

‘It began atschool, Annabelle. I always loved History, and the Victorian era in particular has always held a special fascination for me.’

‘Lovely! Now let’s start with this beautiful little Victorian figure. But it’s not just an ornament, is it, Emily? When we lift up the lady’s crinoline, we see it is in fact a beautifully crafted trinket box,’ she says prissily, holding the hideous thing up to camera.

I nod earnestly, thinking that it wouldn’t look out of place on a shelf in Poundland.

‘Yes, Annabelle, as you said, beautifully crafted – a work of art, in fact.’

‘Personalise!’ comes The Voice in my left ear.

‘I … I remember when I was a wee girl, my great-grandmother had one of these on her dressing table. I’ve lost count of the number of beads on her dress …’

‘Show us thedress in more detail,’ cuts in The Voice again.

Startled, I look up and spy myself fleetingly in the monitor. I’ve never seen myself on screen before (apart from the time our school was on the regional news because Miss Farquahrson, our games mistress, hit the headlines for being a man).

‘Don’t look into the camera,’ snaps The Voice.

I grab the lady in my clammy hands and indicatethe beading with my trembling finger.

‘Erm, notice the … the detail, yes,detailon the dress,’ I stammer, swallowing hard. ‘Each bead is painstakingly stitched on by hand (what the hell am I saying?). These are called bugle beads,’ I continue knowledgeably, ‘and these teeny-weeny ones are seed beads, measuring just two millimetres …’

No sooner have the words left my mouth, than severalof them fall off and roll across the table and onto the studio floor. I freeze.

‘Forget the beads!’ barks The Voice.

Annabelle swiftly comes to the rescue, indicating the next item.

‘Now, what have we here, Emily?’

‘Aah, yes, the pitcher and bowl. This is my favourite piece from today’s collection, and in my opinion, the best value for money.’

‘Romanticise!’

‘Both the,er … jug and the bowl are made of porcelain and are … hand-painted. Of course nowadays we would use this purely for decoration, but in early Victorian times before indoor plumbing … erm … yes, before indoor …’

What in God’s name is she doing?

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