Carla and Peter have often been referred to as 'the Burton and Taylor of the Street' - so why not give them a Hollywood story of their own?

Carla is a teenager from a rough background in Manchester with wide eyes and big dreams. Peter is a former Hollywood heartthrob, the prodigal son of one of the most adored actors of the century. When Carla lands a role in a film opposite the married superstar, she finds herself drawn to his eyes, his charm, and his battered leather jacket.

A story of sex, scandal, drugs, drinking and early set calls, it was almost rated M - we'll see how it goes. It'll feature a whole cast of Corrie favourites - and I'd like to note, I started writing the plans for this ages ago, and I, for some reason, selected Robert to be a key figure in the drugs storyline - coincidence much?

This romance is based on a real-life celebrity love story (if you can call it that) that is not that of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. You may be able to guess what it is - feel free to! Anyone who wants Peter to constantly be all fluffy and full of cuteness, please look elsewhere!

I would really appreciate your feedback! I'm trying to make these chapters about 3,000 words long, and I also start back at university next week. I'll do my best with updates.

I really hope you guys like it! Any questions, comments or criticism, please feel free to ask.

Thank you,

Chloe xoxo

Roll Camera

I was running. From what, I'm not exactly sure, but I could hear the heavy thudding of footsteps behind me, and I daren't look back. My heart was pounding so loudly that I could hear the throb in my ears; it felt as though my head was about to explode.

As I rounded the corner, I gasped in horror as I found myself facing a blank brick wall – a dead end. This was it. I closed my eyes and took a deep, calming breath as the footsteps slowed and my stalker's frame blocked the light from the one streetlamp around us, their shadow that cast over me turning the air cold. I turned, and I was met with eyes startlingly similar to my own. My little brother, Rob, smirked menacingly. I could have laughed with glee. Rob didn't scare me. But I twitched as more footsteps became apparent, and a few other figures suddenly appeared behind Rob's lanky teenage form. Most of his friends, his 'gang', were older. Some had been to prison. They all, however, had one thing in common: they hated me for dobbing them into the police months ago for the dubious drugs deals that they had committed from my own living room – amongst other things. I'd seen only snippets of what they were capable of.

I heard one of the thugs laugh. Then another. Soon, they were all joining in, laughing at me as I backed into the cool brick wall behind me with no way out. Rob's lips curled up into a twisted snarl, and his eyes, the same as mine, glimmered with wickedness.

"Carla…" he hissed. It didn't sound like his voice. It scarcely sounded human. "Carla… Carla… Carla…" One by one, the other voices joined in, the figures approaching me, forcing me to shrink to the floor.

"Carla… Carla… Carla… Carla… Carla…" I squeezed my eyes shut. There was nothing I could do.

"Carla… Carla… Carla…"

"Carla! For god's sake, will you flamin' well wake up!" I fought against my eyelids as they dazedly fluttered open, furrowing my brow in confusion as I was aggressively shaken into consciousness.

"Mm…?" I mumbled, blinking continually as I tried to adjust to my bright bedroom lighting. I was staring up into wide, brown doe-eyes that shone excitedly, and a toothy grin almost as blinding as the light. "What time is it?"

"Six-thirty."

"Michelle, what the hell?" I groaned, rolling onto my side and trying to shield my face under my duvet. My bedsheets were damp, and my nightdress clung to my body and the coating of cold sweat that covered it, a remnant of my weird dream. I needed more sleep, preferably some that wasn't plagued with memories of the past.

"Get up!" my best friend sung, launching herself on top of me, straddling my body despite my cries of pain and wrestling me onto my back again. We had been sharing a flat in London for the last three months, and I was beginning to see why they don't suggest living with your best friend. Sometimes, I wanted to kill her.

"I don't have work until eleven. Leave me alone," I complained, still refusing to open my eyes. Indignantly, Michelle bounced a couple of times before smacking me across my forehead with what felt like a heavy bunch of papers, perhaps a newspaper or a magazine. "Ow!"

"You've got a letter."

"From?"

"Francis Films." Now I was awake.

"What does it say?"

"I didn't open it. I wanted to, but I felt bad." I practically pushed Michelle off my lap as I sat up straight, snatching the letter from her hands. I stared at it, and sucked in a shaky breath. The contents of this letter could change everything for me.

Two and a half months ago, I'd attended an audition in the centre of London, completely on a whim. It was an open audition for a B-list fantasy film, and I'd stumbled across the advertisement in the newspaper. At first, I almost hadn't given it a second glance.

Michelle and I had moved to London with her two-year-old son, Ryan, to chase our dreams. She was an aspiring singer, who spent her weekdays working in a record shop and her weekends gigging around London's club scene while I babysat. I, meanwhile, was an actress – or, at least, I was attempting to be one. I'd had an agent back home in Manchester, but after several failed auditions and one single-frame shot in a car insurance television advert, I'd made the decision to move to the home of bright lights and glitter. If I was going to find success anywhere, it was in London.

So, I'd given myself a pep talk. Why had I dragged my size eight backside over two hundred miles down south if I was just going to glance over any opportunities I had? Why was I bothering to slog my guts out working full-time in a shoe shop in the country's most expensive city if I could live practically rent-free back home? Auditions should be viewed as a chance to improve – wasn't that what they said in showbusiness?

I'd fired off an email to the casting director's assistant, and she'd sent me back an audition pack, with a few excerpts of the script. It wasn't bad. It wasn't exactly Woody Allen or Steven Spielberg, but who was I to be choosy? Chances were, the film would be a moderate success, have a mixed bag of critics and fade into oblivion within the next five years. It would be a good film, but nothing with staying power. And the girl that they would choose for the lead role that I was auditioning for, Princess Elara, would likely have featured as a minor character in a few British Cinema films, as well as have dozens of television roles under her belt. They were insisting on casting an unknown – but as I'd come to learn, being 'unknown' in the world of showbusiness didn't really get you anywhere.

The audition had been fun. I'd read lines with the casting director into a camera. Later that day, I'd received a call back for the following week. When I showed up, I realised, so had hundreds of other girls. This time had featured screen tests, headshots and more line reading. I spent hours at the London studio, which seemed to empty as the day went on. I left expecting nothing, but having had an enjoyable time all the same. Plus, I'd gained experience, as well as a stack of photographs to add to my portfolio. As the weeks had passed, the audition had faded into a memory, and I'd almost forgotten about it.

Until today.

Casting directors rarely contacted you unless they wanted you. My breath was caught in my throat. Maybe they'd liked me and wanted to use me as an extra. I felt a bubble of excitement in the pit of my stomach, which I tried to calm. Paid extra work in a cinematic release would look fantastic on my resumé. It would give other casting directors something to look at in the future, at least.

"Carla, for crying out loud, just open it!" Michelle squealed, before slapping a hand over her mouth to avoid waking her young son at such an early hour. I met her excited gaze and smiled nervously, before tearing open the envelope's seal. In my anxious state, I made a complete mess of the envelope and ended up ripping it down the side. My hands trembled as I opened the first document inside. The words on the letter were a blur.

Just a blur.

They didn't even make sense. My eyes scanned them several times, on each occasion taking in parts of the sentences but leaving out others. 'Dear Miss Donovan', 'congratulate you', 'successful audition'. 'Very pleased', 'delighted to inform you', 'join our production'.

'£18,000'.

'Lead role'.

'Princess Elara Romano'.

I couldn't breathe.

"Carla…?" Michelle prompted, eyeing my open mouth and dazed expression with concern. I swallowed hard as I felt a confusing wave of emotion wash over me: part fear, part excitement, part disbelief, and part nausea.

"… I got it, Michelle…"

I hugged my fluffy dressing gown around my slim form as I padded into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes, which were still weary from sleep. Michelle was absent-mindedly stirring a cup of coffee, and offered me the other, which I gratefully accepted. Dropping my mobile phone onto the kitchen table, I leant back against the counter and cupped the mug with my hands.

"Where's Ryan?" We'd woken the poor little soul up with our screams. And probably half the city along with him.

"Crashed out on the sofa. He's got another hour or so in him yet."

"Poor mite…" We drifted into silence as I slowly sipped my scorching hot coffee, my eyes fixed on the offending letter, which sat pride of place at the centre of the table beside my discarded phone. "I called work. Told them I had some flu thing and I'd let them know later if I'd be in in the morning."

"Did they believe it?"

"Why wouldn't they? I can fake a blocked nose, I'm an actress-…" My heart lurched at my words, and I gulped down another burning mouthful of coffee to steady my nerves. That phrase, that I usually threw around so nonchalantly, suddenly had a real meaning. 'I'm an actress,' I would tell people cheerfully at parties, or bars, or anywhere other than family gatherings, 'Oh, well, I've not been in anything yet. I'm just training. It's a lot of hard work, being an actress'. To my family, I worked in retail. I always would. Maybe, if I behaved myself, I might become a retail manager one day. Maybe. Until today.

Now, I was an actress. A real one. And I'd never been so terrified in my life.

"So what happens now?" Michelle asked, cautiously. After the initial excitement had worn off and we'd screamed our throats raw, jumped around my bedroom in our nightdresses like a couple of teenagers who had just been asked to prom and woken Ryan in the process, the reality had set in. I was nineteen-years-old. I was suddenly going to have to quit my job, maybe move again, and would spend the next few months on a film set with a bunch of actors who were actual, proper actors with experience and credits to their names. For my first real role, I had been expecting an extra part in a TV movie that would fit in around my day job, or possibly even a bit-part in a television drama that required me to take a couple of weeks off for 'educational commitments'. This was a very different situation.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting to win an Oscar at the next ceremony. As I stated, the film wouldn't be a huge hit. But on its release to cinemas, I would become known to the cinematic world. Other casting directors would see me as 'that girl who played the Princess in New Horizons'. That was the film's production title. I didn't really know much about it, other than that it featured a princess – me – and some pirates, and that the director has big dreams about turning it into a trilogy. Though, of course, that wouldn't necessarily mean that I would be featured in any sequels; I was only contracted for one film.

"The letter says that I have to meet with Roy Cropper, the director, in Iver Heath next Wednesday afternoon."

"Where on Earth is that?"

"Buckinghamshire. About an hour and a half's drive from here. They've said they'll put me up in a hotel the night before, but I may as well leave in the morning."

"Have you heard of this Roy Cropper bloke?"

"No. He's not well-known. He was at the call backs, and Mike, the casting director, reckons he's some kind of creative genius. He can't write for shit, though. His lines are like tongue-twisters."

"Best get used to it though, kid. Don't go complaining on your first day, you'll get kicked out," Michelle teased, setting her empty mug down on the counter before easing mine from my hands, which I'd been distractedly gnawing on in apprehension, "Are you going to call your mum?" I shook my head.

"No point. She wouldn't understand. She'd think I'd got the lead in another amdram or something." Michelle affectionately patted my shoulder as she brushed past me, moving towards the living room to check on her stirring toddler.

"What about Rob?" I shuddered as I thought back to my dream this morning. In the excitement, I'd almost managed to banish it from my memory. My little brother had recently narrowly avoided being sent to a Youth Offender's Institution, all because I'd turned him and his 'friends' in to the police when it looked like things were going to get violent in their little drug ring. A couple of his 'friends' hadn't been so lucky. Somehow, I didn't think that he would be overjoyed for me and my success.

"I don't want to get anyone's hopes up. The film might be crap."

"It might," Michelle agreed over her shoulder, "But a film's a film. It's better than a shoe shop."

I had to agree with that one.

I combed my fingers through my freshly-straightened hair as I scrutinised my reflection in the mirror. I looked pretty, but I hated the image all the same. As Michelle drifted into the reflection behind me, I gave her a small, uneasy smile.

"Does this look alright?" I asked, tentatively. I toyed with the hem of my little tartan mini skirt; I'd teamed it with a cream turtleneck vest top, and chunky heels at the end of my long, slim legs. I didn't want to look too dressed up. Michelle slung an arm around my shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

"You look perfect," she insisted, "What time have you got to be there?"

"One. But I didn't want to leave too late. I'll be back as soon as I can. What time are you working?"

"Don't worry about that. I'll get Katie from downstairs to watch Ryan if you're not back." I turned to face my best friend. I could tell from her expression that she was almost as excited as I was. She cupped my face in her hands. "Knock 'em dead, kid." She quickly kissed my forehead before stooping to grab my handbag from the floor and handing it to me. I drew in a long breath in an attempt to calm my nerves before pulling open the front door and stepping into the hallway or our block of flats.

Just over a week had passed since I'd received the letter that had changed everything for me. In that time, I'd tried to plan the way that my life would pan out once I started my new career. I had handed in my notice at the shoe shop. At first, I'd toyed with the idea of keeping my job and merely going on a sabbatical for a few months, just in case this role proved to be a one-off and I never received any more acting work because I was awful and the casting director had made a mistake. Then I decided that, whatever the result of this film, I wouldn't be returning to my minimum-wage job working as sales assistant in a shoe shop. Worst case scenario, I would take a few more months off – after all, I'd be able to afford it – and get a new job later on in the year.

The drive to Iver Heath was mind-numbingly long, but gave me ample opportunity to contemplate the meeting that I was about to attend. I would be meeting with Roy Cropper, the eccentric director and the man who had chosen me out of the thousands of other girls who wanted this role. The entire idea for New Horizons was his own.

As well as Roy, it had stated in the letter that the other lead actors would also be in attendance. From reading the casting call notes, I knew that the other main characters were Joshua, a damaged fugitive, and Cassius, the cold-hearted captain of a pirate ship. I assumed the men playing them would be at the studios today, too, but I had no idea whether other members of the fairly large cast would show their faces.

Finally, I drove up to the gate of Pinewood Studios and flashed the security guard my ID, giving me a very great sense of self-importance. I pulled my car into the nearest bay in the huge parking lot and tried to give myself a few minutes just to gather my thoughts and to mentally prepare. Chances were, the other actors would be experienced; at the very least, they had probably been on a film set before, even merely as extras. I'd tried to Google who my colleagues would be, but it seemed that Francis Films were remaining tight-lipped on casting matters until the press release in a couple of weeks' time.

I pulled down the sun visor, which doubled as a mirror, and examined my reflection. I'd woken up early that morning to give me time to perfect my appearance – I wanted to give the director and the other actors the best first impression, to convince them that I was the right poster girl for their film. Even though I'd already got the job, I felt like I had something to prove. I'd gone heavy on the mascara front, elongating and thickening my dark lashes, and had used a fair amount of bronzer to contour my cheeks. I was paranoid about the puppy fat that remained from my youth and, after all, the camera adds ten pounds. Any trickery would be a bonus.

"Pull yourself together," I scolded myself. With one final glance at my bold eyes and trembling lips, I snapped the visor shut and swung my legs out of the car, striding with mock-confidence towards the main studio reception. It was time for the meeting that would change my life – for better and, I suppose, for worse.