Sara was a striking-looking girl, but not everyone would call her beautiful – there was something mask-like about her features which gave her an odd look that some saw as surreal, others angelic, and some merely bland. Seen without her make-up, her features were elfin and dainty, her skin very smooth and fine, with a neat nose, and a bright, lippy smile, disconcertingly wide, which changed her entire face when she turned it on. She had striking green eyes, very large and liquid with unusually large irises. It was the one feature that came across on film when she was wearing her mask.
Tiffany Gray took a number of sets of Sara, some with, some without her mask, and was very satisfied with the results.
Sara insisted they try to use her scar.
‘She even said she might get it done again if Heat made her have it removed,’ said Tiffany, shaking her head partly in wonder and partly in amusement. ‘Sara had some very radical ideas about personal beauty. She thought if Jonathon could get to look like a dog, why couldn’t she have her scar?’
But the thing that attracted Gray about Sara was that her look was so versatile – a different pose or the right lighting could change her whole appearance. The sets Gray took showed Sara seductive, cold, aggressive, passive and sexy in turn. In none of them do you get a sense of her as a person, but as Gray said, ‘What do you expect? I was doing fashion, not a portrait.’
It’s one of these images that developed cult status among students for a while, of Sara, wearing a white vest, naked from the waist down in heavy shadow with her face and the upper parts of her body emerging into a bright, warm light, staring down at the camera. Despite her assertive stance, there is something vulnerable about her. The huge eyes shining brightly from behind that bland plastic face seem to have possessed her.
Gray had been covering Heat for ages, but by this time she already considered him to be a predator who never did anything unless there was something in it for him. Privately, she advised Sara to have nothing more to do with him. Sara, she said, stared at her as if she was some sort of animal when she offered this piece of advice.
‘Which I guess is only natural,’ shrugged Gray. ‘Heat must have looked like a dream ticket to her, but with her looks, she could have made it onto every catwalk in the world.’
Kaye did not want to operate until Sara’s scars had healed properly, and planned on working on her sometime in July, a couple of months after she moved in. Decisions were being made very early on about the proposed changes to her breasts, her nose, her mouth, her cheeks and her thighs. Looking at the list, it seems extraordinary that a girl of only seventeen, with such looks as Sara had, should ever consider having so much work done. Janet, we know, was extremely concerned about it, but Sara was, as she described it later on, ‘just delighted that she had that chance.’ Gray, who had admired her so much at the photoshoot, never knew about the surgery; Sara never said a word. If she had known, ‘I would have kicked her arse so hard she’d have needed surgery to put that right for her.’ In Gray’s opinion, it may have been the very simplicity that made her so versatile that Sara didn’t like about her appearance.
‘She just wanted everything about her to be extraordinary,’ she said. ‘Maybe she never realised that to be extraordinary to the camera isn’t the same as looking extraordinary in real life.’
Sara’s mother, who might have been expected to have intervened, found the whole idea of surgery so off-putting that she simply washed her hands of it.
‘You decide. I don’t want to even have to think about it,’ she told Sara. And Sara took her at her word.
Heat’s motives for wanting her to have surgery have been endlessly argued over. Despite, or perhaps because of, what had happened to him, he seemed to regard it all as very ordinary, but he was aware of Sara’s youth and vulnerability on some level. Heat is on record as saying that he was totally unprepared for his own journey from schoolboy to star, and it’s possible that he was more worried about Sara on that account. In fact, there is some evidence that he regarded the surgery as part of her preparation for that journey itself. For whatever reason, he insisted that his young protégé attend counselling sessions three times a week. Which, on the surface, sounds like a very good thing. Except that he chose Kaye to counsel her – the very man who had destroyed his own face.
Bernadette McNalty, a trained nurse who had been with Heat for years and who actually had more counselling training than Kaye anyway, was on the premises at the time. She would have been further removed from the operation and better placed to spot anything amiss. The Heat camp have pointed out that Bernadette was leaving to do some charity work in Jamaica the week after Sara moved in. Others have suggested that the choice of Dr Kaye was more simple – to ensure that Sara went ahead with procedures that Heat wanted.
The nature of Sara’s relationship with Kaye is something we know very little about. According to Janet, Sara took against him right from the start. ‘Dr Ghoul the face-eater,’ she called him, and used to make jokes that he’d stolen Heat’s face and swallowed it whole, like a jellyfish, while he was under anaesthetic. Janet told me that Sara spent her sessions with Kaye mucking around, making up voices and personalities. ‘She told me she did a different person every other day, almost,’ she said. Heat, to whom Kaye had to report, has never denied this, but puts a very different slant on it. According to him, Kaye and Sara explored various issues through role play, which accounts for the different voices. Kaye, he says, reported that the sessions were a great deal of fun but also very useful; they covered a lot of ground using aliases and different voices that they might not otherwise have touched on. It was how Sara preferred to deal with issues. Kaye looked forward to the sessions, and as far as Heat was concerned, so did Sara. This has been confirmed by various members of the Heat household.
Each session was filmed and recorded, and Kaye wrote up detailed reports on Sara’s progress; but all records, including the ones Kaye kept on Heat, were destroyed in the fire that burned Home Manor Farm to ashes a few days after Sara left. Nothing was recovered. The nature of Sara’s relationship with the mysterious Wayland Kaye remains unknown to us.
The troubles that came later must have seemed very distant to Sara when she first moved in. She was in heaven. Heat was working with her, already planning her first CD; within days they were already choosing songs and musicians to work with and they had already found a designer to coordinate her look. And in a few weeks’ time, there was to be a party at which Sara and Heat were to recreate the opening number of the famous Night of the Mask Tour, in front of a galaxy of A-list celebrities, producers and entertainment promoters. It was to be her big launch.
And there were endless shopping trips, and eating out, and meeting other stars. Sara loved it. She was having the time of her life.
Sara – 5 May 2005
(Sara is walking around holding her camera and filming as she walks. She sounds as if she can’t believe what’s happening to her.)
This is my bedroom. Look at that! That’s a sofa. It’s about as long as my old room in Levenshulme. You could go to sea in it. You could fit my whole house in here. Table and chairs in the window. TV the size of Lithuania. It’s like a showroom. Here’s the view out of the window. Cherry trees in five different colours! They’re not all out yet. And there’s bits of his modern art collection in between the trees. There. Some of it looks like rubbish. Some of it is rubbish. Some of it looks like giant sloth turds left here twenty thousand years ago, but it’s art. Ha ha! He gets people to pour blue dye down those pipes into the soil to the roots, it turns the flowers blue. Now, you have to admit, that’s pretty cool! I can’t wait. Blue cherries! I wonder if he gets blue cherries? I’ll have to ask him about that.
Bathroom. Huge. Dressing room! He keeps taking me shopping. I need a whole separate room to keep my clothes in now. And that’s my bed. Did you ever see anything like that? See, I couldn’t get to sleep in this room, it’s so huge. It was like trying to sleep on a football pitch. I like to be able to snuggle down, y
ou know what I mean? So I asked Jonathon for a small room but he couldn’t bear that – me, his guest of honour, in a little bitsy room – so he got me this giant bed instead, because it’s as big as a small room. You can live in it. You can pull the curtains like this, so it can be all private whenever you like. This is the TV screen, it folds away into the wall like this, how cute is that? This is where you keep your books and CDs and things. This is a PlayStation. I keep clothes and stuff in this cupboard. Here’s the stereo and headphones and all that. This is the fridge! A bed with an on-board fridge! Yes, yes, yes! Oh so dangerous, though. Everlasting snacks. He thinks I don’t eat enough. He’s part of the international conspiracy to make me fat. It’s fun though and, even better, it’s expensive fun. Yes. It gives me a lot of pleasure having all this money spent on me. That strange black-and-green gob going up one of the posts is more art. Jonathon did it. Jonathon can’t tell the difference between art and ridiculous, so there’s more ridiculous than art. But, if you ask me, this bed is so ridiculous, it’s turned into art despite itself.
Now I’m coming round the front so you can see me. The camera goes on that ledge there …
Like that.
You’re very privileged to be allowed in here. I don’t allow anyone in here except my best friends, not even Jonathon. After the bed was delivered he came in to have a look at it. He had to try it out – well, you could understand that: as soon as you see it you want to bounce on it, or get in there and pull the curtains. But he pulled himself right in so he was lying across it, and he just stayed there, sort of eyeing me up. I got up and went to sit in a chair on the other side of the room, about four hundred metres away and we had to shout at each other across the yawning chasm between us.
So what about it? The question is – does he want to shag me? Maybe the bed is one enormous casting couch. And the other questions is – do I want to shag him? You know what? It may have to be done. It’s the price you have to pay. These guys, you have to love them or the story never happens. Hey, he must be quite good at it by now, all the practice he’s had, that’s one thing. But another thing is, well, he’s so old! He’s like yer granddad on a fashion shoot. How will I stop myself laughing when he gets going? Shagging granddads – I mean, yeeeew!
Maybe I don’t mind. Shagging Jonathon Heat – why not? It’d be a pity not to, really.
On the other hand, it might be he’s not like that at all. He’s not very good at what stuff means. Behaviour, you know? He gets it all wrong. It might be him being all autistic. Maybe he really just wants to be my girlfriend and lie around on the bed reading Heat magazine and eating crisps and talking about diets and clothes and stuff.
Like hell. Anyway, I’ve got this great story about that. See, everyone always tells him exactly what he wants to hear, you know? The staff. It’s like they’ve all convinced themselves that he’s this wonderful person who can do no wrong, you know? I mean, like, criticising Jonathon is just such bad manners. But the only one who doesn’t go along with it is Bernadette. She’s great. She’s this Jamaican lady; she’s been here for years. She used to help with the surgery and stuff but she started not to like it – well, she was right, wasn’t she? But she and Jonathon were such good friends she stayed on to do other things. She’s dead friendly; she’s always popping in and out to see how things are going. She’s quite quiet – she’s one of those people who doesn’t say much, but you always know exactly what they’re thinking, you know what I mean?
Anyway, there was Jonathon stretched out on my bed, trying to make out what I was saying – I was being a bit mean, really. I was talking very quietly and I think he might be a bit deaf. Then there was this knock at the door, and I said, ‘Come in,’ dead quick, and in comes Bernadette. You should have seen Jonathon’s face! It was obvious he knew he shouldn’t be there. She was talking to me about stuff, but she was looking over at him the whole time and he was writhing about, trying to get off without her noticing. The bed’s so huge you can’t just slip off, especially if you’ve plonked yourself smack in the middle, so he had to sort of worm his way to the edge of it while she wasn’t looking. It was so funny!
Finally she caught my eye and her eyebrows went up and we both suddenly smiled at each other – then that was it. I was cracking up. She had to pinch her lips together to stop herself smiling.
‘Mr Heat,’ she said. ‘Do you think it’s appropriate that you should be cavorting about on Sara’s bed like that?’
‘I wasn’t cavorting, Bernadette,’ he said. Cavorting! What sort of word is that? I can’t imagine Jonathon cavorting. I didn’t know where to look.
‘Her mother’s only just down the corridor, you know.’
He almost jumped off the bed when she mentioned Jessica, like she was lurking outside the door or something. I don’t know why he should be scared of her. ‘It’s not like that, Bernadette,’ he said.
And he was so embarrassed! You see, he really is sweet. He was writhing all around the floor almost, saying how sorry he was and everything, and how he didn’t mean it like that and so on, and then he practically ran out of the room. You could see even under his mask that he’d gone bright red. His ears were blazing. They were sticking out of the side of that mask; they were so red they looked sore. He’s so sweet!
‘Poor Jonathon,’ said Bernadette. And we both looked at each other and we both started snorting with laughter, but we couldn’t laugh out loud in case Jonathon was still outside. She’s great. It was hilarious! I had to go into the bathroom, I was making so much noise.
But she had to go away. Doing some charity stuff for Jonathon in Jamaica. Pity.
So listen: next week we’re having a party. Jonathon is inviting forty people and I’m inviting forty people and we’re going to perform together and – and guess what we’re doing? The opening sequence from the Night of the Mask! The big one! Together. Me and Jonathon Heat. Think about that while you die of jealousy! It’s going to be my big break. He’ll have all the stars there and agents and film people – everyone. They’ll see me. They’ll see me …
He says I’m the best talent he’s seen. For my age, I mean, and the fact that I’ve not had much proper training so far. He said, ‘Sara, you know, I asked Georgie –’ (that’s the voice coach) – ‘what he thought of you and he said, “Platinum talent Jonathon – pure platinum.”’
Platinum talent! That’s me!
Only you can never entirely trust people with Jonathon, because, like I say, they all love him so much. In this house, even thinking Jonathon’s a vain and stupid man is an act of purest evil. Yeah, and he pays them too and all …
But he is. Vain and stupid. It’s just that he’s also very, very sweet and he happens to be one of the most talented people on earth. Ha!
Meanwhile I’m getting myself really sorted out. His nutritionist is giving me loads of advice; I’m eating really healthily. Loads of fruit and stuff, lots of fish. Vegetables. I feel like a greengrocer. All organic. I’m getting loads of exercise. I’m feeling great! I swim, I work out, I have massages and saunas. Jonathon has a whole private health clinic here. My skin is glowing. I’ve had my hair done. Look at me: I look like something out of a magazine. If Mark could see me now – wow. Well, boy, you lost what you ain’t never gonna get. The only problem is my weight – I can’t seem to get rid of it. Look at this flab. Ugh! And here.
(She pinches a neat little fold of skin between her fingers.)
I look like the blubber bunny. And for the other stuff, the stuff you can’t fiddle with, I’ve already got that booked in. The face – they’re going to use a skin graft from my lily-white thighs. I don’t care about that, that’s for Jonathon. Like, it’s my face anyway, what’s up with him? But I guess if he wants to make me a big star he has to have a say in what I look like because that’s all part of it.
The nose is going to be straightened. You can see. There. Like a bulbous – well, like a bulb. I wouldn’t be surprised if it sprouted daffodils. I wanted them to suck out some of my lard, but t
hey won’t do that. They say I’m thin enough. So what’s this, then? Is it bone? No. Is it muscle? No. It wobbles, therefore it’s fat. Fat therefore I am.
You need to do that sort of thing in today’s entertainment world. People say, What’s the point if you have natural good looks, but that’s not the point. The point is, this is art. It isn’t natural, that’s the point. Art makes things unnatural. Think about it. It’s right. Tits, a nip and tuck, get ’em so they don’t go south when I lie down and they stick out a bit more. Perhaps a little extra definition – that’s bigger tits to you, sonny.
I’m gonna work on having someone else do it, though. Dr Kaye, he’s this great genius. But he can’t be that great – look at Jonathon. I mean, you could buy a better face at the butcher’s than that. And, anyway, I don’t like him. I don’t want no one what I don’t like poking about inside me. He’s very ordinary to look at. Kind of quiet and neat. A dull old bloke, I suppose – you wouldn’t guess he spends all day sloshing about in blood and, even worse, fat. He gives me the creeps. He gives me a pain, there – in the premonition place. It hurts me to think about him. Look. Dr Kaye – ouch. Dr Kaye – ouch. Dr Kaye – ouch! See? What’s that all about, then?
My brain! Why do I think things like that? Poor old Dr Kaye, no one likes him …
Ouch!
We’ve been looking through these books to pick what I’m going to get. There’s a book for everything. There’s a book of noses, a book of tits, a book of smiles, a book of eyes. Imagine! You can get anything. Apparently, you can even get new willies and fannies. Yuck!
‘You won’t need that,’ said Jonathon. ‘That’s for women who’ve had children.’ Yeeew!
‘And what about the willies?’ I asked. ‘Are those for men who’ve had children as well?’
‘Every man wants a new one of those. And so does every woman,’ he said, and all the blokes laughed like idiots.