Chapter 19
Hunter
Honestly, Janet Pilcher, I’d rather not, but I’m pretty sure that was a rhetorical question.
As I’m led down the corridor, my chest tightens, and I feel like I’m walking into a courtroom, not an office.
My palms are damp. Overhead, the fluorescent lights hum and flicker.
I don’t want to be over-dramatic, but I really feel like I might never return.
It’s one thing to know that what Max and I are doing is illegal.
It’s another thing to come face to face with the authorities who could choose to ruin our lives.
I’m really having to summon my acting abilities, since this experience is making me resent the power that governments have over us.
Why should they get to make arbitrary rules about who is and isn’t permitted to stay in the country?
Sure, being in love with someone who lives here is a good reason to be allowed to stay, but there are many other reasons, like wanting to pursue a career.
I don’t see why some people should have their dreams crushed but not others.
But that’s not an issue that’s going to be resolved in the next twenty minutes.
My fate has been placed in the hands of Janet Pilcher, who hasn’t said a word since she invited me to follow her.
She leads me into a drab little office with nothing in it apart from a desk, a couple of chairs, and a tea station in one corner.
It contains various types of tea, and, for some reason, Marmite, even though there’s no sign of a toaster. Janet catches me looking at it.
‘Would you like a cup?’
‘Of Marmite?’
‘What? No. Tea.’
‘Oh. Right. No thanks.’
My voice cracks. Damn, I’m nervous. A surprisingly common problem with actors.
So many of us are nervous wrecks in real life.
You’d think we’d be able to act our way out of anything, but that’s not really how it works.
I realise that despite all our prep, I’ve walked in here as myself, not Edwin, the trainee orthodontist’s assistant, a man who would have no reason to lie about anything.
But I’m going to have to get there pretty fast.
I pause and try to get in the right headspace.
I like to use the Stanislavski technique, where you draw on real emotions you’ve experienced.
In the past, when I’ve had to play a romantic scene, I’ve thought about the start of my relationship with Rafferty.
But that no longer feels right. Without planning it, I go to a place I’m not expecting: sitting opposite Max at our wedding, gazing at him over my lavender creme br?lée.
‘Right,’ says Janet. ‘Shall we begin?’
As she starts asking me questions, I’m on high alert.
I don’t even consider saying something unless I’m sure that Max and I went over it together.
I’m scared that Janet is going to notice my hesitancy, but as I settle into it, I have to admit this isn’t as bad as I feared.
We did our homework, and it’s proving helpful.
Things get a little trickier when Janet asks about my past relationships.
Not that I’m worried about slipping up, but does the government really need to know this?
I say as little as I can about Rafferty.
I have no desire to churn up those memories.
But as I talk about him, a funny thing happens.
I realise how far I am from that experience.
Max and I might be faking it, but we’re also genuinely looking out for each other.
We’re far more of a team than Rafferty and I ever were. So I tell that to Janet.
‘And what do you two do for each other in your relationship?’ Janet asks.
Damn. What we’ve done for each other is very simple: Max has given me a way to stay in the country, and I’ve given him a chance to get his dream job. But I can’t say that, obviously. I rack my brain for anything I can offer without contradicting what Max might say.
‘Uh . . . we’re good for each other. Max helps me relax and have fun. And I keep him honest.’
‘Max is dishonest?’
Jesus, Janet. That was meant to be heartwarming.
‘Not like that,’ I say with a laugh. ‘But sometimes he’s too optimistic for his own good.’
Janet doesn’t look as if she’s personally acquainted with that concept.
‘Right. And how does he help you relax and have fun?’
She’s really holding my feet to the fire. The only example I can think of is stealing Elton John’s gnome. But I can’t tell that story. I’d be marched straight over the road to the police station. How can I put it in a way that is truthful but not?
‘Well, Janet,’ I say, ‘we like to acquire rare pottery.’
The best I can say about my answer is that it has Max written all over it. Having said that, I can picture him happily telling his officer the gnome story, naming Elton and everything. But if he does, I haven’t contradicted him. Janet makes a note, then looks up.
‘That’s all.’
‘Did I pass?’
For the first time, Janet smiles, but there’s nothing friendly about it. ‘Your answers can’t be right or wrong. They just have to match your husband’s.’