Page 2 of The Only Way Is Up

Daisy had been a familiar face on TV since she was fifteen, when she’d presented a mid-nineties teen pop show on Saturday mornings. She’d missed the pinnacle of the Ladette movement by a few years, instead providing a more wholesome girl-next-door alternative as she progressed from weekend mayhem TV to shows about budget home makeovers for twenty-somethings cashing in on the early noughties boom. Later she’d married heartthrob breakfast TV presenter Simon Burton, then had Ruby. Winning the job of presenting Spotlight, the biggest talent show on TV, had been the icing on the cake of a long and impressive career.

The simple fact was that people liked Daisy. She was kind to production staff, worked hard and never took her success for granted. She was never late and remembered people’s birthdays. Her most outrageous diva demand was to ask if someone could find her a peppermint teabag during a live broadcast from a lighthouse in Aberystwyth. There were plenty of other TV stars who did a great job of being edgy, unpredictable or outrageous, but Daisy had no problem with being famously nice.

Being easy to work with had paid off and, after nearly twenty-five years, Daisy’s star was still burning bright. Spotlight continued to top the ratings as the biggest family entertainment show on TV, and she had advertising deals with fashion, beauty and skincare brands, as well as two bestselling cookbooks. She had a cabinet full of awards, just not the trophy she really wanted. Yet, despite the inevitable outcome of tonight’s proceedings, there was something comforting about being in the company of so many people who wished Daisy nothing but success.

Christian, meanwhile, did not look comforted in the least. She could tell that he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Yes, he was politely shaking hands with endless strangers, but he was forcing himself to hover in the reflected glow of Daisy’s fame. Every now and then his hand brushed over her backside in a way that felt both proprietary and provocative, and it was clear to Daisy that his only interest in her dress was how quickly he could get her out of it.

They took their seats in time for the live broadcast to begin, presented by TV legend Des Parker, who was Daisy’s longstanding friend and mentor, as well as Ruby’s godfather. He’d been a huge support when her four-year marriage to Simon had broken down – even though Daisy had given her full and public support to Simon’s announcement that he was gay, she’d been devastated. But there was nothing to be gained from airing her grief in public, and she cared about Simon too much to punish him for finally having the courage to be himself.

Everyone clapped and cheered politely as the awards were handed out – Factual Entertainment, New Drama, Daytime, Comedy, Quiz Show, Drama Performance . . . The nominations, speeches and thank yous all started to blur into one another. Christian was getting bored; drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair and making little effort to hide his yawns. Daisy tried not to be annoyed with him; this was probably pretty tedious for someone who didn’t work in the industry or watch a lot of TV, but he could at least try to LOOK like he was having fun, especially with so many people watching.

Christian briefly rallied when Spotlight won the award for Best Talent Show, and the cameras swung to him clapping and smiling as Daisy went up onto the stage with the rest of the team. She said a few words of thanks alongside the executive producer and accepted the award for the sixth time. It was always an honour, but it still wasn’t the big one.

The atmosphere changed as Des introduced soap legend Susie Docherty, who was presenting the award for Best TV Presenter. After eleven years, the possibility that Joe McDonald might be knocked off his podium was tantalising, but the result would make the front page of the tabloids tomorrow either way. Susie read out the nominations and clips were played from each of their shows.

As Daisy smiled for the cameras and gave a humble wave, Christian leaned in and whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t be too gutted, babe.’

It felt like a punch in the gut. She was still fighting back tears when Susie opened the envelope and the arena fell quiet.

‘And the winner is—’ Everyone held their breath. ‘—DAISY CRAWFORD!’

The crowd went bananas.

Daisy stumbled to her feet, her hands over her face as she struggled to breathe. Between her fingers, she could just see Joe giving her a standing ovation, and soon the rest of the celebrity audience joined him, a sea of faces clapping and cheering.

Christian gave her a lingering kiss as the cameras flashed frantically. Daisy tried not to cry, reminding herself that her face was going to be all over the papers tomorrow, and was live on TV right now.

Look happy. Don’t blub. For God’s sake . . . hold it together.

Daisy could barely feel her legs as she walked towards the stage. It felt like miles. She’d never done this walk alone before; the Spotlight team had always been with her. She could feel the anxiety rising. She hadn’t prepared a speech; she’d never expected to win. Who should she thank? It felt like one of those fever dreams where you had to sit an exam you hadn’t revised for. She tried not to panic as she teetered up the steps. As long as she acknowledged the Spotlight team and the public for their years of support, everything else would be fine. Nobody wanted a speech that rambled on. She wasn’t Gwyneth Paltrow at the Oscars.

She lifted her skirt delicately in both hands as she walked across the stage, her eyes fixed on the smiling faces of Susie and her darling friend, Des, and the silver award in his hands. Then everything seemed to slow as she stumbled, the heel of her left shoe catching on something. It snapped and crumpled beneath her. She toppled sideways, dropping the skirt to save herself, arms windmilling as she tried to right herself, her other foot going down to find purchase. But the heavy, voluminous fabric caught under her right heel, the thigh split giving way along the seam as Daisy’s legs slid in opposite directions. Susie shrieked and Des’s face turned from joy and pride to utter horror. They both reached out to catch her, but it was all too late.

The next thing Daisy knew she was flat on her back, winded and disoriented, the bright stage lights blinding her and an agonising throb in the back of her head. After a moment she struggled to sit upright, ignoring the untenable pain as she untangled herself slowly from what felt like acres of skirt fabric bunched around her head. Her left leg was bent backwards at an unnatural angle and there was a sharp pain coming from her knee, and her other foot was splayed outwards, the heel of her shoe wedged firmly under a cable leading to a light fixture at the edge of the stage.

Within seconds Des was squatting in front of her, his face full of horror and concern as he touched her shoulder and said some words. But her ears were full of a strange ringing and the pain in her head was blinding. A camera flashed nearby, then another. Des leapt up and pushed someone away, then struggled out of his jacket and laid it across her lap, which felt cold, for some reason. He squatted back down and held her hand as shadows appeared, people gently moving her legs and touching her arms. Beyond Des, Daisy could see hundreds of tiny lights, flashing, exploding, like a sky full of fireflies. How beautiful, she thought, and then she passed out.

CHAPTER TWO

‘So, Daisy. How are you feeling?’

The assembled team all looked at her with sympathetic head-tilts and caring smiles. She’d shed a bucket of tears in the past few days and was not in the mood for being handled with kid gloves, like she wasn’t entirely stable and might go into meltdown at any second. She gave Clara, the executive producer of Spotlight, a look that she hoped was respectful, but also clearly communicated that she was not to be messed with.

‘I’m fine,’ Daisy murmured. ‘Remind me why we’re here?’

Clara cleared her throat and tossed her glossy curtain of jet-black hair. They all knew why. The meeting was ostensibly to talk about what was now being referred to as The Incident, but Daisy wasn’t going to apologise or beg. It wasn’t her fault.

They were assembled in the offices of Cloud Productions, the company which made Spotlight, on the first floor of an ugly concrete block in Covent Garden that overlooked the back of a theatre and a row of huge wheelie bins. Daisy idly wondered if they were planning to toss her straight out of the window and save time.

Daisy sat on one side of the glossy meeting table, flanked by her manager, Katie, and her agent, Roger, who had copies of Daisy’s contract in his briefcase and was prepared to waft them around, if required. Clara sat on the other side, alongside three members of the Spotlight public relations team who looked like twenty-something hostages who hadn’t been fed in weeks and seemed to be there for no other purpose than to ensure Clara had more people in the room than Daisy.

‘We need to make a plan,’ said Clara. ‘It’s been four days since . . . well, The Incident, and we haven’t yet put out a statement, as you know. The press is demanding to know what our position is.’

‘And what is your position?’ Daisy stared Clara down, as one of the Hostages gave an involuntary shudder.

Clara smiled and sat back in her chair, her voice softening. ‘Daisy, darling, we’re not the enemy here. We’ve all worked together a long time, and I hope you think of us as your friends.’ She turned the palms of her hands upwards. ‘Of course, I’m here to represent Spotlight, but I’m also here to help. I thought that between us we could come up with a plan to deal with all the noise, then get back to what we’re all best at.’

Daisy slumped in her chair, momentarily defeated. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a bitch. The whole thing is so awful, and I’ve got no idea who’s on my side any more.’