Limelight is out today...

And you can read an exclusive extract here!

Hello, Confident Creatives! My latest novel LIMELIGHT is out in paperback today. I’d love to share an exclusive extract with you - I really hope you enjoy it.

Limelight is available from Amazon, Waterstones, Bookshop.org and my local independent, The Margate Bookshop. They deliver nationwide, and if you get in touch with them on their website contact form, I’d be very happy to personally dedicate your copy!

Chapter Thirteen

A Natural

(Excerpted from Limelight, copyright Daisy Buchanan, published by Sphere/Little, Brown)

I started to wonder about our strange family dynamics around my thirteenth birthday, when Alison took me to my first photo shoot. It was a present, supposedly.

By that point, Alison had offered us both up to every reputable agency in town. And every slightly sketchy one, too. She didn’t tell us what she was doing – not straight away – but there was one morning where she opened a plain, white envelope and sighed so heavily that her crumbs scattered, rising from her plate and falling again, a tiny toast tornado. Looking back, the fact that she was eating carbs was a clear indication that she was in a bad way.

‘“Not suitable for any of our current projects.”’ She looked at me, at Bean, and then back to me again. ‘Lord knows who they’re taking on. Perhaps it’s the fashion to look plain. There are enough of them about. That kid who gets the ice cream on her nose, she’s nothing to look at. You could both do that.’ She sighed again, announced that she was getting a migraine, and went to bed with the Yellow Pages.

There were more white envelopes. I grew to loathe the girl with ice cream on her nose – not because she had what I wanted, but because she made my mother so unhappy. Her existence seemed to be evidence of my failure, although I wasn’t entirely sure what I had failed at.

Then Alison discovered that you can buy success, temporarily. I was given the Star Search Makeover and Portfolio Package as a birthday gift.

‘The brochure says you get up to three outfit changes, but I think we might as well bring some extras,’ said Alison the night before. ‘Have a look under my bed.’ Bean and I were watching Home and Away. Bean told me it was OK to like it ‘ironically’ but I really, really liked it. One day, I’d move to Australia, a land where everyone was so gorgeous that nothing could really hurt them – not divorce, not car crashes, not discovering their sister had been swapped at birth because of a hospital mix up. ‘Frankie will go when this is finished,’ said Bean, firmly.

Alison folded her arms. ‘Both of you. Upstairs. Now.’

The base of Alison’s bed was made of springs, not slats, so my hair got trapped in the coils as I slithered around in the dust. Bean slid out a suitcase and unzipped it. ‘Is this her stuff? It’s a bit . . .’ She pulled out a glittering bronze tunic, encrusted with beads. ‘It even smells weird. Come out, Frankie, smell!’ A clumsy snake, I reversed out of the bed and inhaled obediently. It did smell weird – sour, tangy, slightly chilly. Was it rusting?

The door creaked open, and Alison appeared within the frame. ‘Is that my Jasper Conran? I was wearing that when your father asked me to marry him.’

Bean wrinkled her nose. ‘He proposed to you in that?’ Alison went a little pink. ‘It was very fashionable at the time. In fact, I’ve hung onto it because I’m certain that it’s going to come back. We were on a boat—’

‘Of course you were.’ Bean’s sarcasm was thrillingly adult.

Alison pretended not to notice. ‘Well, you know. A booze cruise. A P&O ferry, really. He had volunteered to stock up for the golf club Christmas party. But we were on board, in the bar, and I had a Dubonnet.’ Her pronunciation was exaggerated, theatrical. Doobonairrrrr. ‘Moonlight fell, just as we left the harbour. That’s when he told me he was head over heels in love with me.’

‘Head over heels? Mum, seriously!’ Somehow Bean rolled her eyes, her voice, her whole body.

‘Your father was an old-fashioned romantic, girls. It’s important that you know that. He was a good man.’

I shivered, dust prickling my nose. Alison said a lot of weird stuff about Dad, and I did my best to ignore it. He wasn’t here, was he? I’d never know him. What was the point of this talk? But this made me feel raw, scraped at. Sad in a way I couldn’t quite explain. ‘And you loved him, too? He knew how you felt?’ I asked.

The features on Alison’s face blurred, almost shimmering, before hardening. She looked like the top smelled. ‘Of course I did! And that’s why this is so difficult—’

Bean interrupted. ‘Mum, I think this is too lovely for Frankie to take to the photo shoot. There are so many memories attached to it. Imagine if it got lost, or if she damaged the beading? I think there’s another big suitcase under the bed, let’s see what’s in there.’ She took my hand, as though we were playing a game, and pulled me to the floor. Together, a pair of dusty deep-sea divers questing for misplaced nostalgia, we dragged out the other suitcase. Together, Bean and Alison looked at old clothes, fought over them, and cried over them, late into the night.

I don’t know if Alison still has the photographs. I remember her paying an extra £200 for giant, glossy prints. ‘It’s an investment,’ she said.

It seemed like too much money for pictures of me in a very small Irish dancing costume; in a leotard and a scratchy skirt; in a black, sequined evening gown that had to be pinned with bulldog clips. On the way home, I fell asleep as she talked about the importance of showing my range. ‘It’s a shame we couldn’t do more outfits, the camera really loved you!’ she said, as the traffic slowed and drizzle turned the universe grey. Yes, but the photographer hated you, was my last, drowsy thought. Alison had been as noisy, as persistent, as pointless as a bluebottle, shouting instructions, making suggestions, shrieking, ‘Doesn’t she have potential? Don’t you think she’s a natural?’

I dreamed I was an octopus. No matter where I tried to put my hands, an extra set would spring up from a different part of my body. Someone screamed, ‘Smile more! Smile harder! Look like you’re enjoying yourself!’ I am smiling, I tried to say, but water was filling the space, up to my neck, my nose, over my head, and I knew I was going to drown. ‘Where is Bean?’ I called out frantically. When I woke up, my seatbelt was tangled, and I was mumbling my sister’s name. The traffic had started moving again, and Alison was turning on the radio. She looked at me tenderly, oblivious to my distress. ‘Oh! You’re awake! Didn’t we have a lovely day?’ she asked.

It wasn’t really a question.

I hope you enjoyed the extract, and if you’re planning to read Limelight, I’d love to hear from you. Here I am, launching Limelight in paperback with the wonderful

Rebecca’s Substack

, at The Yard in Hampshire - it was lovely to see some of you there!

Love

Daisy XX