Chapter 7
Twenty minutes later, Marissa has laced me into my corset and I’ve choked down some juice.
Whichever runner was in charge of my breakfast got me eight different kinds.
Even dragon fruit, which I hadn’t realised was a fruit, let alone a juice.
So much for trying to choose something that wasn’t difficult to come by; I’ll have to be more specific next time.
Still, none of it is enough to counteract the metric tonne of adrenaline currently pulsing through my veins.
I turn over the events of the last half-hour in my mind like a coin, trying desperately to make sense of them. But I can’t. My brain has gone into some kind of survival mode, and no information is going in or out of it.
Marissa leaves and David knocks a few seconds later to tell me that there’s been an issue with some of the sound equipment, so they’ll be another ten minutes.
I sit down in the chair furthest from the door, struggling to fit the billows of my dress into it, and stare at the wall for a few seconds.
Its blank, grey, clean slate calms me a little.
And, slowly, my feelings start to come back.
The haze fading. And as it dissipates, a dominant emotion rises up: anger.
At Roman, because what he did was completely fucked up.
And at Avi. Because he didn’t stop, didn’t allow me to reason with him or tell him what I wanted.
Just barged into Roman’s trailer, because of some instinct to look after me that is entirely misplaced and completely inappropriate now.
What the fuck was he thinking?
I step backwards and my heel slides on something. A card – the one from the sunflowers. The one that I dropped when I saw the rat.
I pick it up and read the contents. And as I do my hand clenches, crumpling the paper in my hands.
Before I know it, I’m marching across the room to grab the sunflowers from the vase a runner has clearly, kindly, put them in. And, in full period costume, exiting my trailer and heading towards Avi’s.
‘Lara leaving her trailer.’ I hear a runner in the background. ‘Lara entering Avi’s trailer.’ But I’m not listening – I’m all anger in this moment. All fire. I push open the door to his trailer and find him sitting in the corner reading his script.
‘What are these?’ I ask, my breath coming heavily.
He looks up and places the script slowly down on the arm of his chair.
‘Sunflowers,’ he says, his tone level and clear.
‘You can’t do this, Avi,’ I say, the emotions I’ve been holding in all bursting out in this moment.
It’s the worst timing ever, but I can’t help it.
I don’t want him to think we’re friends – that everything is fine now.
Because it’s not. And maybe I haven’t been clear enough about that, because at our second audition I was so focused on figuring out how I was going to work with him, if at all, that I didn’t say more. But I can now.
‘I appreciate that you apologised, before the second audition. I accept your apology. But you can’t just barrel back into my life, beat people up and give me these. None of that is going to make everything okay.’
‘I didn’t beat him up…’
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. ‘It’s a turn of phrase. Either way, you had no right to go after him like that.’
And at this, he goes silent.
‘Fine,’ he says. ‘But you don’t know Roman, Lara. He’s a prick.’
‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘Probably on both fronts. But I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Avi. I can handle myself—’
‘Okay,’ he says, throwing his hands up, suddenly animated. ‘Fine. I’m sorry I caused a scene. But why are you so upset about the sunflowers? They’re just flowers.’
‘They’re not just flowers, Avi,’ I say, tears in my eyes now. ‘They’re my favourite flowers. And you know that. And it’s not fair, because you were the one who hurt me. Who put our friendship on the line and then abandoned it completely—’
‘Lara,’ he says.
‘No,’ I say. ‘No. You don’t get to do this.’
‘Do what?’
‘Make me like you again.’ A tear escapes down my cheek.
I take a breath, my composure dropping. ‘Because I’m never going to know if it’s real or if you’re just doing it because I’m here now.
You’ve had three years, Avi. Three years with my phone number.
Three years in which you could’ve sent me flowers, or called me, or done anything to tell me you wanted me back in your life.
But you didn’t. And I don’t want to be let back in now just because I turned up in it. ’
And he looks at me for a few seconds, silent.
Lost for words, apparently – and a little confused, which I find strange.
Because clearly he knows what he did. But I don’t want to hear any platitudes from him, not right now.
And so I drop the sunflowers on the table next to me, walk towards the door and push it open, stepping through it into the air outside.
I get back to my trailer and hardly have time to catch my breath – or process what I’ve just done – before David arrives again to take me to set.
It’s just as beautiful as it was before, when I auditioned – the drawing room as ornate, with a few new additions.
A gilded mirror in one corner, a red velvet armchair near me.
And beyond: groups of people milling around, talking to each other.
Glancing at me with great interest. I suddenly feel very self-conscious.
Not to mention the fact that Avi will be arriving in a few minutes and I basically just told him where to go.
Keep it together, Lara, I think.
I walk through the crowds of people and my body relaxes a little when I see Alessandro, whose face lights up like a Christmas tree when he sees me.
While I can’t forget what I heard outside my trailer earlier – about the other person that’s here on-set, ready to replace me at any second – I’m trying not let myself focus on it. Alison would be proud.
‘Amelia mia,’ he says, his tone warm and affectionate. ‘How wonderful it is to see you. Are you ready for rehearsal?’
I nod, my chest still a little tight. But he looks confident and calm, and some of it is rubbing off on me. I’ll just have to show everyone here why he chose me, I think.
Avi appears a minute later, in full costume now. An embroidered waistcoat and jacket with tails. A cane in one hand. I take it in – the sight is so strange and unexpectedly cool that the reality of me being on a film set hits me all over again.
‘Hi,’ he says to me, in a tone that has me crashing back to reality. Alessandro moves back behind the camera, distracted by something the first AD is saying, and silence falls between us for a few seconds. I pray he won’t say anything else. But he steps closer and my heart kicks.
‘Look, Lara—’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I say, looking up at him. ‘Please. Not right now.’
He lets out a breath and steps back. But mercifully, he doesn’t say anything else and I start trying to focus on the task at hand.
I’ll have the next ten minutes or so to get into character – the rehearsal Alessandro just mentioned will be a short run-through, to make sure we’re clear on lines and to allow him a chance to give us notes before we start shooting.
Avi and I stand opposite each other and I close my eyes momentarily, feeling into Amelia’s presence.
To me she is as real as I am, existing in space and time.
I am the conduit for her, I think to myself.
Thankfully, Avi seems to be a consummate professional – in this area, at least. He doesn’t break character, doesn’t lapse in energy.
He runs lines as if nothing just happened.
As if we’re just colleagues. Which is what I wanted.
But still, I’m on edge. Alessandro makes a few suggestions, including one for me to lift my chin a little when delivering my lines, to convey Amelia’s defiance; she’s asking for something she needs from Jackson and doesn’t want to appear weak.
It’s the one flaw in Amelia’s character: she feels like she can’t let her guard down, even for a second, or people might stop taking her seriously.
Even with Jackson, the person she trusts most. Who sees her the clearest.
We rerun our lines. When we have it how Alessandro wants it, we take a moment before one final run-through.
‘Jackson,’ I say, curtseying. ‘I need your help.’
‘Never one for pleasantries, were you, Amelia?’ Avi replies, a slight smirk at the edge of his lips that makes my heart thud.
‘Not when it comes to murder,’ I respond.
‘If you will, let us look at the facts here, Amelia.’ he says. ‘You leave me heartbroken, turn down my proposal. Tell me in no uncertain terms that you never want to see me again. And now you appear on my doorstep, asking for my help to solve this case?’
Something sparks in me. I’ve read these lines, but they seem suddenly so strangely applicable to my own situation that I’m struggling to keep my emotions in check, to level out and find the right line. But it comes out, eventually.
I nod, trying to keep Amelia’s expression firm and unyielding. ‘There will be payment, of course.’
He raises his eyebrows, pouring himself a glass of whisky – which for these purposes, I’ve learned, is water simply dyed brown. I’m glad I’m not the one drinking it. ‘Always the businesswoman.’
I smile.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘If I were to consider your proposal, we both know I have no need of financial remuneration. So why should I do this for you?’
I roll my eyes. ‘Entertainment, Jackson. Your life must be so dull, drifting from card table to card table. Aren’t you looking for a little excitement?
I will retain you as an assistant and you’ll have the opportunity to actually do something of use for once.
And you’ll have the satisfaction of finding justice for the young woman who was savagely murdered last night. ’
‘An assistant?’ he asks.
‘Of course that’s the only aspect of my speech you retain.’