‘Oh my god, I cannotwaitfor this!’ Salma shouts from the front seat.
And Salma, it would seem.
Beside me in the cab, Clara and Harry bicker happilyabout how he performed on the phone as her fake manager this morning, when he had to give a reference to Katies.
‘I still don’t think we needed to create an entire fake LinkedIn profile,’ says Harry, bouncing lightly in his seat as we mount a speed bump too quickly.
‘Ofcoursewe did.’ Clara is exasperated. ‘Katiezzz is very thorough. You think she wouldn’t have checked your LinkedIn to see if you really were the managing director and CEO of Celebs R Us?’
Harry grumbles. ‘But did we really have to make an entire website for Celebs R Us?’
‘Yes!’ Clara scolds.
‘It was really very convincing,’ Salma adds nicely. ‘I particularly enjoyed the page listing all the fake celebs you represent. Who knew Beyoncé, Adele, Brad Pitt, Barack Obama and Leonardo DiCaprio were all clients of Celebs R Us?’
I nod, trying to gather my frayed thoughts. ‘I also thought it was a brave choice to claim you represent Princess Diana when she’s been dead for thirty years.’
In the front, Salma snorts, adding, ‘My favourite part was the section of the website exclusively dedicated to rating the hotness of various famous men called Chris.’
‘That was my idea,’ Clara says proudly. ‘I’m going to add in a poll so the public can vote with me.’
‘Ooh, I missed that!’ I say, pulling out my phone and finding the Chris page. ‘Hmm,’ I frown, ‘personally, I’m not sure I would’ve had Christopher Walken ranked higher thanChris Evans and Chris Hemsworth, but I guess we are a rich tapestry of different tastes.’
Harry laughs as Clara looks stricken. ‘I don’t think that was meant to happen,’ he says as she quickly examines the website on her phone.
‘Shit,’ she says, ‘I’ve put Christopher Plummer above Chris Martin, too. And Christopher Lee is higher than Chris Rock! Chris Rock is so much hotter since he got slapped at the Oscars.’
Harry opens his own phone, suddenly looking frantic as he scrolls. ‘Where the hell is Chris Messina? If he isn’t in the top ten, I don’t know what hot is anymore.’
‘Chris Pine is my Chris,’ sighs the taxi driver out of nowhere.
We exchange a look. ‘Er, cool,’ Clara says, eyes darting back to her phone.
‘Oooh, I forgot Chris Klein ever existed!’ I cry, looking up from my own phone. ‘He was myAmerican Piecrush.’
‘Whoops!’ Harry makes a face. ‘Looks like Chris Brown has ended up being pretty high on the list, too.’
Clara grimaces. ‘OK, I know he’s the worst, but I do actually fancy him a tiny bit.’ She brings her hands up defensively. ‘I know, I know! There’s something wrong with me.’
We all regard her with horror as the taxi driver mutters something about tanking her rating with a one star.
Clara looks worried, knowing she’s lost the room. ‘Um, I think we’re nearly here.’ She leans forward. ‘Anywhere here, please, mate,’ she says robotically and the taxi driver sighs, pulling over.
‘That is the twenty-fourth time someone has said those exact words to me today,’ he whispers in a sad, quiet voice as we all pile out shouting our thanks.
There is a buzz around the sports centre reception, with people milling about excitedly, talking in animated whispers. It would seem the ‘celebrities’ have already arrived.
‘Shit,’ Clara mutters, checking her phone for the umpteenth time. It’s almost four, but it’s her own fault we’re late.
After crawling into a ball in the shower, I successfully managed to throw on a pair of jogging bottoms and a hoodie, emerging – on time – in the hallway to find Clara sitting on the chest of drawers giggling with Harry. She practically hissed when she saw my outfit, immediately insisting on re-dressing me. I had no energy – mental or physical – to fight her, so now I’m here, wearing tight, high-waisted pink leggings and a stripy crop top. My boobs are so smooshed together and yanked up, I keep grazing them with my chin. It’s obscene and I feel hideously self-conscious, but I’m also too ill to care.
Our arrival attracts a few head turns, followed by disgust at our civilian-ness. I catch a few interested eyes lingering around my chin-tits and pick up speed as we head through the entrance. I mean, Iwouldhang my head in shame, but there are two sacks of fat in the way.
‘Come on!’ Clara shouts, sounding a bit panicked. ‘I’m supposed to have met Milo half an hour ago.’ She flags down security and we’re directed down a corridor that smells like fresh paint.
Music is blasting from a room up ahead, and we exchange panicked looks as we realize they’ve started without us.
‘Shit, what do we do?’ Clara is crestfallen, then glances anxiously around our group. ‘Shall we just leave? Make a run for it?’
