Chapter 1 #2
My grandparents told me my mother had fallen for his twinkly eyes and easy charm. He’d made her laugh. He’d wanted to become an actor and had appeared in a few TV adverts, but he was searching for his big break.
Ha! That was where I got my love of acting.
From what I’d heard the locals say about him, that seemed like the only thing I had in common with him, and that suited me just fine. My mum had been warned by her friends about my dad’s restless reputation, but she was too smitten to listen and believed she was the one who could change him.
She fell pregnant with me five months after they started dating. She told him she was expecting, and then he handed his notice in at the pub and took off to London like Dick Whittington, in search of his fortune.
She never saw or heard from him again until his parents had told my grandparents, three years later, that he was working as an estate agent in Chepstow and was engaged to a girl called Liz.
I’d seen a couple of grainy photographs of him. I possessed the same subtle tilt at the end of my nose and similar thick, expressive brows.
But that was where the similarity ended, as far as I was concerned.
I would never be like either of my parents, I reassured myself.
I wouldn’t settle. I would go for my dreams, and ok, if I didn’t succeed, at least I wouldn’t dine out on what-ifs like my mum did.
And I’d been determined to succeed in my chosen career where my dad had failed.
Even my maiden name wasn’t his. I’d legally changed it when I was old enough from Baird to my grandfather’s surname, Madden.
I clutched my phone in my right hand. My acting career wasn’t exactly going the way I’d envisaged.
I thought about my amazing drama teacher at Forrest Bank High School, Mrs Hazelwood, who’d encouraged me, inspired me and supported me.
She’d been in her late twenties, possessed bags of enthusiasm and was determined to bring out the best in her students.
I wondered what she’d say to me right now.
From the sitting room, I could hear Jade murmuring as she talked to her parents.
Giving my head a wobble, I fetched up Octavia Dawson’s phone number.
Her plummy, calming tones slid into my ear after a few rings. She offered a few brief niceties before launching into the newspaper review. ‘Not a great write-up about Sinister, was it, in The London Gazette? Although Fox did describe your performance as satisfactory.’
‘Oh yes. I’m welling up right now with gratitude.’
Outside the kitchen window, I could hear the parp of car horns and Notting Hill’s mid-morning stirrings from the treelined streets.
The stunning Victorian townhouses and the emerald garden squares often made me feel like I’d stepped into a historical novel.
The fact that I was now just a stone’s throw away from the glittering West End still sent my theatrical heart into a tailspin.
It was so frustrating; within touching distance, but right now, with this soul?sucking review glaring up at me in black and white, it seemed further away than ever.
‘What else is there for me, Octavia?’ I pushed, my lilac painted fingernails tapping the edge of our polished kitchen table.
‘You mean any acting roles?’
‘No, brain surgery. Of course acting.’
Octavia let out an awkward little laugh. ‘To be honest, poppet, there’s not really anything I think would suit you at the minute.’
My spine went rigid. The tiny, optimistic flame inside of me, which had been hoping there might be even a crumb of something, snuffed itself out. I knew it. I should never have entertained the thought, even for a microsecond. ‘Nothing at all?’
There was an awkward silence. ‘If I were you, I’d let Fox’s review become tomorrow’s chip paper, and then we can revisit what you could be doing next. Oh, someone wants to speak to me. Got to go. Catch up later. Ciao!’
I blinked at my phone as she hung up. I let it clatter back down on the kitchen table.
Great. Just great. Even my agent was reluctant about being associated with me, thanks to that shitty critic and his shitty review.
Oh God. My phone resumed its pinging with more furious texts from other cast and crew members of Sinister. They were in turmoil, too, worried about how this Fox piece was going to impact them going forward.
I was still too churned up with anger and feeling sorry for myself to make them feel better. I’d message them back once I was able to pull myself together.
I had my rent to pay to Jade, and my credit card bill was beginning to resemble a foreign telephone number.
I’d received a generous payment for my part in Sinister, but living in London had eaten a significant hole in that already.
What was left, which hadn’t been much, I’d stashed into my savings account.
Acting was so precarious, you just never knew if and when the next job would appear, and staying in this picturesque but affluent area meant that everyday living was on the pricey side.
My grandparents encouraged me to chase my dreams but advised me that I should have a financial cushion.
At the moment, it was more the size of a pin cushion.
I turned over my situation in my head. I had no other option.
I’d give the hospitality agency a call next. Ask them if there were any waitressing gigs going at the moment. That had been my backstop on several occasions when I was struggling to get acting work.
My head jerked up at the sound of Jade’s sandals slapping over the kitchen floor towards me. ‘How did it go with the Ostrich?’
I pulled a face and laughed, despite my insides feeling like they’d been stomped on.
Jade often referred to Octavia that way.
‘One of these days, I’ll have a Freudian slip and call her that.
’ I puffed out my cheeks. ‘It didn’t go well.
She said she doesn’t have anything new for me right now.
She wants the hoo-ha over Fox’s review to die down before thinking about putting me forward for something else. ’
Jade leant against the sink top and frowned. ‘But you were great in it.’
‘Not that you’re biased or anything.’ I sighed. ‘It’s death by association, I guess. I’ll give the hospitality folks a call now. See if there’s anything going on there.’
Jade pushed herself away from the sink edge. A satisfied little smile was playing around her mouth. ‘I told you that was Mum and Dad on the phone, right?’
‘Yes. How are they?’
‘Mum’s still having fainting fits over my pink hair, and Dad wants to marry me off to the middle son of one of his bridge club mates.’ She curled her lip. ‘As if that’s going to happen.’
She eyed me. ‘Anyway, forget about me being a major disappointment to my parents. We know that already.’ There was that playful smile again. ‘I may have some good news for you.’
My optimism lifted. ‘They don’t know Guy Ritchie, do they?’
‘No. Sorry. But how would you feel about putting your waitressing prowess to good use this Saturday lunchtime? Mum and Dad were just telling me about one of their friends who’s throwing a posh birthday cream tea thingy for his missus.
They need some extra pairs of hospitality hands and they wondered if you’d be interested? ’
‘This Saturday?’
‘Yep. Just for a few hours.’
I chewed my lip. For just a few hours’ shift, I wouldn’t receive much but it was still money, and the extra cash would come in handy.
I’d already paid for Marlene’s (named after Marlene Dietrich) service and MOT.
She was my daffodil yellow, second-hand Volkswagen Beetle.
I’d also insisted on sending some money to Grandpa, splashed out on a spa weekend for Jade and me in the Cotswolds last month and treated myself to a lemon Radley bag and a new pair of Ralph Lauren sunglasses.
After that little lot, I needed to get my finances back on track.
As if reading my mind, Jade interrupted my thoughts and told me the generous hourly rate I would be paid.
I blinked over at her. At first, I thought I’d misheard her. ‘Are you joking?’
‘Nope.’
I sat up straighter. ‘Bloody hell. Where is this afternoon cream tea? Holyrood Palace?’
‘Oh, some pile in Hertfordshire. It’s a bit hush-hush. If you say yes, you’ll be contacted with all the info.’
I couldn’t turn down an hourly rate like that. I’d need a psychological assessment if I did.
Jade stuffed her phone back in her skirt pocket. ‘Have a think about it if you need to, but please don’t take too long. Sounds like the husband wants to get everything finalised.’
‘Are your Mum and Dad going to be there?’
‘No. They can’t make it. It clashes with some anniversary do they agreed to attend months ago.’
I watched her head towards her room down the hall. ‘What are you going to do now?’ I called after her.
‘Start packing for Somerset.’
I rubbed at my forehead and followed her. ‘Of course. Sorry. I forgot you were going to that residential poetry thing for a week.’
‘Poetry thing?! It’s a poetry workshop, where we delve into our innermost thoughts and feelings and transfer our emotions onto paper.’
I folded my arms and examined her. ‘Does your attendance have anything to do with the fact that hottie poetry lecturer with the suede blue eyes is taking the course?’
‘How dare you! Yes, ok, it does have a lot to do with Jasper Seaward being there.’ She gave a cheeky smile. ‘So, still no Jaspers in your life?’
‘Ugh! No thanks. Not after the way Leon treated me. Career all the way for me from now on, thank you very much.’
‘But that was a couple of years ago now.’
I shrugged. ‘There’s too many Leons out there for my liking. I’m fine as I am.’
I’d met Leon Sutherland two years ago when we’d appeared together in the cast of a short-lived theatre production in Streatham about a man who falls in love with his cat and marries her.
It was all a bit experimental. (I know, it sounds it.) Leon was the cat owner, and I played Mallory, the cat in question.
He was green-eyed and gorgeous, and he carried the air of a younger Lenny Kravitz.
He was also, as I found out later, ruthlessly ambitious, so you won’t be surprised to know that after eighteen months together he realised he could do better than a struggling Scottish actress girlfriend and buggered off.
He’d insisted that there was no one else, but two months later, it turned out that he’d been cheating on me with the honey-haired sister of a well-known casting director.
When it came to his career, Leon would’ve shagged a table leg, if it meant a foot up in the film world.
I hadn’t known that side of him existed, until then.
He’d kept that under wraps from me. I saw the charming, well-read Leon, so when the heartless, ruthless version of him emerged and he deserted me to try and reach the big time, I felt like I’d been with someone I never knew at all.
I thought that, as we were both in the same profession, we were there for one another, to support and encourage each other’s dreams.
Turns out he viewed me as a temporary distraction.
Last I heard, he’d secured a role in a touring musical theatre production of Driving Miss Daisy.
I banished any more thoughts of Leon and followed Jade into her bedroom down the hall, with its framed Sylvia Plath quotes on the walls, hessian rugs and vases of dried flowers sprouting everywhere.
My room was next to hers and was filled with retro movie posters, black and white glossy photos of Marilyn Monroe and rows of autobiographies on the shelves.
I crossed my arms, as I stood, watching Jade buzz about.
‘I’ve been thinking. I don’t fancy rolling around in the flat on my own for a week.
I’m going to drive back up to Strath Ross after working at this function on Saturday. Go and see my grandpa.’
‘That sounds like a good idea.’ She planted one hand on her hip. ‘So, does that mean I can call Mum and Dad back and tell them you’re in on this mysterious lunch gig?’
I nodded my head. It was a no brainer.
‘Great. I’ll ring them back now.’ She bathed me in a wide smile. ‘Then I can focus on my beauty treatments so I can look my best for Jasper.’
Jade meandered over to her dressing table and hauled out a couple of long, floaty scarves from a drawer. ‘All that fresh Scottish air and rolling hills. It’ll put some colour back into those bonnie wee cheeks of yours!’
She proceeded to fetch her case from under her bed.
‘If that’s your best attempt at a Scottish accent, I’d hate to hear your worst.’
She laughed, displaying her small, even, white teeth, as she coiled the scarves up and stashed them inside her case. Then she rummaged in her skirt pocket for her mobile. ‘I’ll call my parents now and tell them you’re in.’ She looked up from the screen. ‘Just promise me one thing, Daisy.’
‘What?’
‘You’ll give me all the gossip on this Saturday cream tea affair.’
I crossed my heart. ‘I promise, although I think you’re allowing your imagination to run away with you.’ I leant over and absently stroked one of the scarves in her case. ‘From previous experience, these things can be rather boring.’