Personally, I Blame My Fairy Godmother
Claudia Carroll
For my great friend, Weldon Costelloe. With love and thanks.
‘Only when the tide goes out, do you discover who’s been swimming naked.’
Warren Buffet
‘They say that when you ask God for your heart’s desire, he’ll give you one of three possible answers. The first is yes. The second is, not yet. And the third is, I have something far, far better in mind.
Answer three is kind of where this story starts…’
Jessie Woods
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
Excerpt
Prologue
Nineteen Years Later
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
May
June
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Read on for Claudia’s
Is Your Guy A Prince Charming or A Slimy Frog?
Acknowledgements
Personally, I Blame My Fairy Godmother
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
Once upon a time, there was a little girl whose favourite fairytale character was Cinderella. It was easy for her to relate to her heroine because, you see, they’d so much in common. Just like Cinderella, her mum had died when she was three years old, leaving only herself and her dad. Course, she was too young to remember; all she was aware of was that everyone – neighbours, distant relations she’d never met before or since – was suddenly an awful lot nicer to her. Money was tight and her dad had to slave away all the hours he could to support them. But no matter how busy he was, he’d always rush home and snatch time to read his little princess her favourite fairy story.
And so this child, whose name was Jessie by the way, grew up dreaming. But never about fairy godmothers or pumpkins magically changing into glass coaches with mice to drive them, which frankly she thought was all a bit daft and OTT. No, what Jessie really loved most about Cinderella’s story was the very last sentence, ‘And they all lived happily ever after.’ Because that’s what she wanted more than anything else. To live happily ever after in a huge big castle, far from where she came, where she could make sure her dad never had to work so hard or fret about money ever again. Somewhere she could feed him more than just spaghetti hoops on toast for dinner night after night, which was pretty much all she knew how to cook. Somewhere miles from the corporation house they lived in, where they’d be able to afford a glittery tree and presents at Christmas and maybe where they could even take a holiday to the seaside, just like all the other girls in her class did. And most of all, somewhere she wouldn’t have to worry about her dad any more. A place where he’d be happy; so happy, that never again would she have to listen through the paper-thin walls to the muffled sound of him softly crying to himself alone in his room at night, when he thought she was sound asleep.
Then, when she turned ten years old, a life-altering event happened that suddenly turned Jessie’s whole little world upside down. Something which made her feel even more Cinderella-like than ever. If she’d been in a hurry to get out and make her dreams come true before, now she was in a race against the clock. But all the odds in life’s lottery seemed to be stacked against her. Because how could a girl from the wrong side of the tracks ever hope to live a life of wealth and security? She wasn’t brainy enough to be a successful doctor or sharp enough to be a rich lawyer, even if they could have afforded the college fees. And that’s when Jessie realised exactly how she could unlock the low door in the wall that would lead her to this magical wonderland.
Fame, she decided, would be her key. Her escape.
Celebrity. Because nobody minded where stars came from or how little they had growing up, did they? She’d work hard, shake off her past, haul herself up and become a real-life rags-to-riches success story, with all the trappings, just like the presenters she loved watching on TV. And their job seemed so, so easy. Talking into a microphone. Asking questions to interviewees, then nodding and listening. Sure any eejit could do that! And if there was anything Jessie was good at, it was asking questions and listening. It would be a doddle. She could do it in her sleep. She’d get paid a fortune, be able to afford beautiful things, be recognised everywhere she went and, most of all, be able to get far away from where she came and take proper care of her dad in a house so big you could nearly sign a peace treaty in it.
And of course if she just happened to meet Prince Charming along the way, then whoop-di-do…
NINETEEN YEARS LATER
Chapter One
‘Once upon a time, there lived a stunning, modern-day princess whose life was so perfect, it was like a beautiful dream. And here she lives, in her very own fabulous palazzo, with real-life Prince Charming, successful entrepreneur Sam Hughes. I’m speaking, of course, about the nation’s favourite TV girl, who’s kindly invited me into her breathtaking home today, the one and only Jessie Woods!’
‘And……CUT!’
Oh God, I knew this was a bad idea. In fact, there’s so much wrong with that last statement, I don’t even know where to begin. For starters, my house is definitely nota ‘palazzo’, that’s just what pushy estate agents call it, just because there happens to be a lot of pink marble going on. Which looks great in photos but, take it from me, is like living inside an ice rink in winter. Well, either an ice rink or a mausoleum. It isn’t mine either, I’m only renting it from a couple who are away for a few years. If it was properly mine, I’d have to do a major rethink on all the pink; from certain angles, it’s like something Jordan vomited up. Oh, and I don’t live with Sam either, not officially anyway. He still has his own place down in the country because, get this, he thinks here is too small for a couple. His home, by the way, is the approximate size of Versailles.
‘Jessie, do you think we could get a shot of you over here at the grand piano?’ Katie, the interviewer, trills across the room at me, to where I’m perched up on a bar stool, still getting make-up slapped on and nowhere near camera-ready. For the record, Katie’s absolutely lovely; young and spray-tanned and skinny, hungry for work and only delighted to be in front of a TV camera. Just like I was at her age. In fact, give her another two years and she could very well end up doing my job. She’s also bouncy and energetic and, when there’s a microphone in her hand, talks in exactly the same sing-song cadences that air hostesses do. Honest to God, she’ll be doing seat-belt demonstrations next. Plus, like most TV presenters, she talks in exclamation marks and uses the word ‘fabulous’ a lot.