Chapter 5
Alison lost her mind over me getting the part.
It was nice seeing her consternation, her worry, melt into pure joy and excitement for me.
To know she no longer feared that I wasn’t going to be able to get where I wanted.
Because I was already there. I hated myself for it a little, but I did have a small sense of triumph at having proven her wrong, that all this grinding, all this work, was worth something.
That I didn’t listen to her repeated suggestions that I give up and do something else.
Something more grown-up and sensible. I’ve been getting texts from her every day, begging me to let her tell ‘just one colleague’.
But it’s all under wraps, apart from immediate family for right now.
And it’s a good feeling, having it just between us.
My parents are thrilled too, and I feel like I’m in a happy little bubble.
Despite being the lead, I didn’t want Nat to fight for me to be number one on the call sheet either.
It matters a lot, to some people. But I knew that Avi’s profile and absolute bulldog of an agent would have combined to ensure that it was contractually agreed for him to be number one.
And I’m honestly still wrapping my head around the fact that I’ll be there at all.
Some of Nat’s other requests make sense: an intimacy coordinator is heading towards being standard practice these days, but, just in case, she’s going to make absolutely sure that there’s one there.
A part of me is enjoying this process – it’s the first time I’ve ever been able to ask for anything other than just agreeing to their terms and showing up on time.
But the rest of me just wants to get the contract signed as quickly as possible.
I’m ready for a fresh start – for the next part of my life to begin.
I’ve started packing up my room, all seven square feet of it, filled wall-to-wall with books and old movie posters, and some fold-out chairs I stole from my parents’ garage.
Now heading back to my parents’ garage, along with everything else.
For the next six weeks until the end of the twelve-month contract I signed, Spencer will lease out my room and I’ll be moving into a fancy hotel in West London, a short drive from the studios; all the crew, including Avi, will be living there too. And after that… who knows?
I get into the car, a Tesla – a fact I learn when it takes me several minutes to figure out how to open the door, which doesn’t seem to have a handle.
The driver gets out to help me and spends most of the twenty-five-minute journey to the studios telling me about how much more aerodynamic the Tesla design is than cars with regular handles.
Once we arrive, I get out of the car and step onto the car park, onto the same lot where I had my audition.
I take it all in, knowing that this is going to be my home for the next six weeks, along with some off-set locations around London.
I honestly can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’m here, so instead I just operate on autopilot, excitement coursing through me as I make my way through to Reception and sign in.
There’s a flash of joy as I walk down the corridor behind yet another runner, a joy in the knowledge that this isn’t just an audition.
That the part of me that has been expecting another shoe to drop for the last few days might be able to start to relax.
Because I’ve made it here. If only teenage Lara could see me now – landing a role in a major film.
The film she always dreamed of. One she didn’t know would ever even exist. There was no guarantee that Amelia’s story would ever be picked up.
So the fact that it’s going to be on screen, with me as the lead, is beyond my wildest dreams.
After I’ve been led to the costume department, I find a row of costumes labelled Lara – Amelia on a rail. My hands fly to my mouth immediately because they’re beautiful. Jewel-toned silk and velvet, petticoats and corsets. Like the most incredible array of princess outfits anyone could imagine.
I was always more of a Lara Croft kind of dress-up girl. Partly because of my name, partly because Alison looked so radiant in her Cinderella costume that it was her lane more than mine. So I stuck to trousers and daggers.
But maybe this I can make an exception for. Especially since I know Amelia will have a special sheath under her skirts to keep her dagger close.
The head costume designer – Suzanne – is here, along with her assistant, Marissa.
I don’t have much experience with costume departments.
The theatre productions I’ve done have been so low-key that it’s pretty much just been one incredibly stressed-out person who’s asked me to bring half of my own clothes because they didn’t have enough of a budget to rent everything.
And in advertising, the clothes are neutral, chosen specifically to avoid drawing attention away from the product.
But from the five minutes I’ve already been here, the rumours seem to be true: in film, the costume department is the best department.
The clothes are beyond imagination and the designers seem to be some of the nicest people I’ve met in the business.
Within seconds of my arrival, Suzanne has given me a warm hug, congratulated me on the role and started to talk me through each ‘look’ they’ve prepared for me to try on today for my fitting.
There are several rounds of costumes: a rich burgundy corseted ballgown, accessorised with emerald jewels on my ears and at my neck; a dark-blue dress buttoning up to my neck, with lace cinching the waist, and a pale-pink silk dress with a bustle, sleeves frilling out at my wrists.
They’re all so beautiful that I can’t help it – I become overwhelmed with emotion.
Because I can’t believe this is actually happening, that there’s any chance I might’ve said no to this.
From my conversation with her, I assess that Suzanne has an even deeper knowledge of Amelia than I do, from reading the books seventeen times.
From the cut of the skirts to the exact colour of the silks, she’s thought about every single aspect of each outfit on this rail.
Which, I suppose, was to be expected – but what I wasn’t expecting was for her to be so interested in what I thought.
Whether it fits my vision for her character too.
We pull out dress after dress, and Marissa and Suzanne take turns helping to lace me into each corset.
We try out different lengths and styles of petticoat, working out which ones I can run in and which ones are better for less action-heavy scenes.
We discuss where might be best for Amelia to conceal her weapons: in a hidden pocket down the side of her corset, for easy access; in a secret sheath hidden in her skirts, like the books; in the ankle of a boot.
And even without the hair and make-up – I’ll have my test for that next week, the day before we start filming – I can see it.
With each look, I feel myself stepping more and more into the character of Amelia.
Into her confidence, her strength of will, her sharp wit.
All the qualities I used to wish I had when I read the books as a kid.
All the qualities I thought would make moving through the world that little bit easier.
The sensation buzzes across my skin, of transformation.
It’s like magic. Everything I’ve only ever been able to imagine, coming to life in front of me. My hands shake as I help Suzanne do up the buttons.
By the time it comes to the last dress, I feel almost out of my mind with excitement.
It’s made of a thick, beautiful silk in a deep russet.
The skirts drape perfectly around me, and the corset has embroidery so detailed it must have taken someone several hours by hand.
I didn’t know how beautiful clothing could be, never thought I’d be this moved by wearing a dress.
But the fact that I’m going to get to wear it again, to play a role I only ever dreamed of, has tears running down my face.
Like it’s hitting me properly, for the first time.
The magnitude of this. The shimmering life – of playing Amelia, of being an actor in a big-budget film – that I’ve only allowed myself to imagine in the last few days, coming into shape around me.
‘We’ll give you a few minutes, love,’ Suzanne says, sensing that I’d like a moment alone. As she and Marissa leave the room to make some tea, they tell me that if I’d like to take the dress off while they’re gone, and I can manage, that’s fine. Otherwise they’ll help me when they return.
I stand staring at myself in the mirror for a few seconds, the shimmer lingering.
Then the door opens. I turn. And in the doorway is six feet of Armani suit, perfectly coiffed hair and a Rolex watch that flashes on his wrist as he steps into the room.
A look of surprise and then awe passing over his face as he does.
Fuck.
‘Hi,’ he says. ‘Sorry, my fitting’s in a few minutes. I can go—’
‘H-hi,’ I say, apparently unable to get any words out without stammering.
An awkward silence falls. I swallow, trying to think of what to say.
‘So I accepted the part,’ I choke out, eventually. Idiot, Lara. Of course he knows that.
‘Alessandro told me,’ he says, an inscrutable expression on his face. ‘I wanted to call, but I didn’t know…’ He trails off, but I get the gist: he didn’t know whether I’d want to hear from him. Whether I’d even still have the same number or if I’d have blocked him.
‘Congratulations,’ he says, his voice shifting a little. And I wonder if I hear a sliver of disappointment.