Chapter 1

We touched down at Manchester Airport at six forty-seven am on the sixteenth of June and, by the time I’d deplaned, retrieved my luggage and gone through customs and immigration, or passport control as it was also known, it was nearly nine. I found Mum waiting for me in the arrivals hall branch of Costa Coffee.

We hugged.

“Welcome home,” she said.

“I’m glad to be back,” I said, “and I’m looking forward to your cooking Mum.”

“Well, why don’t you get yourself a coffee and when I’ve finished mine, we’ll get on the road?” she said, “how was the flight.”

“Nearly twelve hours, but at least it was non-stop. I didn’t have to change.”

“Did you get any sleep?” she asked.

“Some, but remember my body thinks it’s one o’clock in the morning.”

“Then forget the coffee, we’d better get you home, it’s long past your bedtime.”

I laughed, she finished her coffee and we headed out to the car park.

As we pulled out of the car park Mum turned to glance at me.

“What are your immediate plans?” she asked.

“Immediate?” I asked, “sleep. Then take a month off and recharge. After that I’ll have to start learning lines for Star Academy 2.”

“When do you start work on that?” she asked.

“August the second,” I replied, “four weeks of rehearsals then a seven-week shooting schedule, mainly at Pinewood, with some location work. And before that all happens, I have to learn to drive.”

“Well the good news is your licence has arrived,” she said, “so you can start as soon as you like.”

“Well, today is Wednesday, I’m going to take a few days just to rest and decompress and then I’ll try for the beginning of next week,” I said, “do you know if anyone around home does one of those intensive courses, aimed at getting you through the test quickly?”

“No,” she replied, “but I’ll have a look while you’re in bed.”

“Thanks, Mum, but please, don’t let me sleep for more than a couple of hours, I want to be able to sleep tonight and get back into a proper rhythm.”

We made good time on the way home and arrived just before eleven. Mum insisted on cooking me breakfast before I climbed the stairs wearily up to my room. I didn’t bother getting undressed, just took my shoes off, lay down and was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.

I had a dream. I was walking along a beach, it was deserted apart from me and my companion, we walked along the water’s edge, barefoot and hand in hand.

“You’re home now David,” she said in a voice at once familiar, yet strange, “back in your own world. Now it’s time to go back to real life, time to move on. Don’t forget what we had, David, but go out now and find something new. Goodbye, my love.”

Then she started to say my name, softly, over and over, before her voice morphed into that of my mother.

“Come on sleepy-head, it’s time to wake up.”

As I climbed out of my bed she looked at me.

“David, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I did, in a way,” I replied and told her about the dream.

“People often have that sort of dream when they’ve lost a loved one,” she said, “some people believe it’s the loved one reaching out to tell them that it’s all right to move on, to find someone or something new. Others think it’s just your own unconscious mind telling it to you. You’ll probably have other dreams as well as time goes on.”

My answer was to sigh deeply.

“Anyway, what are you going to do for the rest of the afternoon?” she asked.

“I thought that I’d wait until Alison gets home from school, then we could go downtown and look at cars.”

“You’d let your sister go with you to look at cars?” she asked.

“Well, given that once I pass my test, she’ll probably regard it as her personal taxi, I thought it would save arguments later.”

“Talking of which, I’ve found two driving instructors who do intensive courses, but only one of them appears to have any vacancies.”

“Then could you ring and book it, as soon as possible but preferably not until next week?”

Alison arrived from school about ten minutes later and just flung herself at me as she walked in.

“I take it you’re pleased to see me,” I said.

“Nope,” she replied, “it’s a gun in my pocket.”

I laughed; Mum looked scandalised.

“Alison Barker, where did you ever learn a thing like that?”

“In the school playground, Mum,” she answered.

“Hey Pip, do you want to come down into town and look at cars?” I asked.

“Yes, I’ll come, but why do you want me with you?”

“Your brother has this theory that once he’s passed his test, you’ll be considering his car to be your personal taxi, so you may as well have a say in what he gets.”

“A Porsche,” she said.

“Maybe one day, but I’d rather get some experience first,” I said, “I was thinking one of those hybrid things. Cheaper on fuel.”

“Well, give me ten minutes to get changed and we’ll be off,” she said.

“Don’t you want something to eat first?” Mum asked.

“No, that’s all right,” she replied, “David and I will eat out, he can pay.”

‘Yes, ’ I thought, ‘Home sweet home.’

We walked down to Pontefract Road and started looking at cars.

The first garage was Ford. We walked in and a large guy in a Ford uniform threw us out. When I protested that I was looking to buy a car, he told us that they didn’t sell old bangers and to come back when I had some money.

Alison, being Alison walked up to him and pointed at a bright yellow Ford Mustang

“How much is that one?” she asked.

“A lot more than you can afford girlie,” he said.

“Really and how do you know that?” she asked, “how do you know that my brother isn’t a film star who’s just got back from six months in Canada making a TV series for which he was paid a quarter of a million dollars a week? How do you know we don’t have the money?”

By this time she was getting quite shrill and another man, this one in a suit came out of a back office.

“What’s going on out here, Robert?” he asked.

“Just getting rid of these two time-wasting kids,” he said.

“Well, try not to make so much noise about it,” the man said and turned to return to his office. Then he turned back and looked at us.

“Wait a minute,” he said, “aren’t you David J Barker, that local kid who makes films?” he asked.

“And a TV series in Canada,” Alison replied, looking straight at the one called Robert, a smirk on her lips.

He had the good grace to blush.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding here,” the manager said.

“No misunderstanding,” I said, “Robert here saw that two teenagers had walked in and thought, well, I don’t know what he thought, or even if he’s capable of it. Probably either just here for a lark or here to see what they could steal and he acted on that assumption.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he replied, “but if we can put that to one side, I’m sure we can do you a good deal.”

I looked at him.

“Sorry, not interested,” I said, “looks like Bobby here has lost you a customer.”

And then we walked out. Once we were outside we looked at each other and started laughing.

That particular section of Pontefract Road, between the end of the main street of Glasshoughton and the motorway, was car sales central in Castleford. Every new car sales place in town was either on the road or on the Junction 27 shopping park behind it. We got a better reception at the other places, but I’d got my mind set on a hybrid car and none of them had one to offer. The Honda Civic was my sort of baseline idea but there wasn’t even a Honda place in town.

We finally found what I wanted at Motorpoint, a used Prius Hybrid with low mileage and a good price, only one year old.

I explained to the salesperson that I’d just got my provisional licence and that I was looking for my first car.

“You’ll need to bring a parent with you,” he said, “to sign for the finance.”

“There won’t be any finance,” I replied, “we’ll be paying cash.”

“Seriously?” he asked, “forgive my scepticism, but where does a lad your age get that sort of money?”

“Have you seen Star Academy?” Alison asked him, “or The Lakeland Murders on telly?”

“Yes, both of them,” he answered, “why?”

“Take a close look at my brother, don’t you think he looks kinda familiar?”

He peered across the bonnet of the car and then realisation hit him.

“Oh my god,” he said, “you’re Greg Paradise.”

I didn’t scream, but it was close.

The salesman noticed the look on my face when he said it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I thought...”

“It’s OK,” Alison said, “he gets grumpy when people use that name. In a second he’ll tell you no, he’s not Greg, he’s just an actor who plays him.”

“Ah, I see,” he said, “then again, I apologise.”

“Not necessary,” I said, “realistically it’s something that I’m going to have to get used to.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Really,” I said, “particularly since we start production on Star Academy 2 in a couple of months.”

“There’s going to be another film?” he asked, “when will that be out?”

“Probably around Easter next year,” I replied, “or a bit later, maybe the summer holidays.”

“I’ll have to make sure I take the kids to that,” he said.

“How many have you got?” I asked.

“Two,” he said, “Charlie and Emma.”

“How old?”

“Ten and eight,” he replied, “both of them nuts about Greg.”

“Have you got some of my cards in your bag?” I asked Alison.

“Of course, I always have,” she said.

“Give me a couple,” I said.

She handed me two of my Star Academy picture cards.

“Could I borrow a pen?” I asked, “what are their names?”

“Paul and Sarah,” he said, then he fished in his jacket pocket and handed me a pen. I quickly inscribed the two cards to his two children and handed them to him.

“Here you go,” I told him, “that should get you some daddy cred.”

“Thank you,” he said, “are you dashing off anywhere?”

“No,” I replied, “why?”

“Let me go and have a word with my manager, see where we can go on price on this.”

“OK,” I replied, “thank you.”

He disappeared into the back and we sat for five minutes waiting before he came back with another man, this one probably in his sixties, fat bald and looking sour.

I stood up as he approached and was introduced as Steve Smith.

“Mr Barker, I believe you’re interested in a Prius,” he said.

“No,” I replied, turning and pointing at the one I’d picked, “I’m interested in that one.”

“Why that one in particular?” he asked.

“I like the colour,” I replied.

“How long ago did you pass your test?” he asked.

“I haven’t even had a lesson yet,” I replied, “but I want to learn and take my test in the car I’ll be driving afterwards.”

“That’s good in principle,” he answered, “but, all hybrids are automatic, if you do that and later want to drive a car with a manual gearbox, you’d have to retake your test in a manual car.”

“So I need to get a different car to learn in,” I said.

“You don’t have to,” he replied, “but that would be my advice. That way by taking your test in a manual car you can drive either, in an automatic you’d be limited only to those.”

I considered that for a moment.