Chapter 7 #3
And at that I can’t help but wonder if Avi still drinks his tea with two sugars – or if he’s left that behind too.
‘So,’ I say, once she’s sitting down. And before I can say anything embarrassing and stupid like ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’, she starts talking.
‘I wanted to say hi properly,’ she says. ‘See how you’re doing. If you wanted any advice. This being such a strange experience and all.’
I blink, not sure what to make of her words.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask. Wondering suddenly if she might be referring to Avi, or even the fact that she’s here as my understudy. Might be here as my understudy, I remind myself. Because there’s nothing to prove that that rumour is true yet.
‘You know, your first time on a big set,’ she says, her hair – so glossy it catches the light from the window – falling over her shoulder.
Oh, I think, relieved. The way she says ‘big set’ reminds me of a conversation I had with my mum once about going to secondary school. Big girl school, she called it.
‘That’s so kind,’ I say, determining to keep my cards close to my chest. ‘It’s all quite new.’
She nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
‘I remember my first time; I was working with this great director. He was a little insane, though. Terrified of oranges – we couldn’t have any near set.
I’m talking a complete orange ban. And he was so demanding to work with.
It was such a crazy experience and I’d been on sets before, obviously, because of my parents, so it wasn’t totally new…
’ She pauses, looking like she might’ve just lost her train of thought, then recalibrates, switching her 100-watt smile on.
Are those veneers? I think. ‘Anyway. I get it, kind of.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply. This woman might live in a totally different world to me. But her making the effort to come here and try to relate to me – impossible as that might be – is nice.
‘Sure,’ she says, getting up. ‘Well, if you need anything I’m just down the hall. Next to Avi.’
I frown, slightly confused. I assumed they’d be sharing a room.
‘Number 34,’ she says. ‘Drop by anytime.’
‘I will,’ I say – which is probably a lie, because she ever so slightly scares the shit out of me. And there’s no way I’m venturing that close to Avi’s room. She picks up the book on my table, the special edition that Spencer and Hannah gave me.
‘This is beautiful,’ she says, running her hand over the gold edges. ‘I’ve been meaning to buy a copy – I haven’t read it. Which I know is crazy, being in the film and all. But I figured the script is basically the same, right?’
Oh, God. A flicker of indignation flares up and I push it aside. This is normal, Lara. You know it’s normal. It’s just how things work with films.
‘Right,’ I reply, struggling to keep it together. A wave of anger passing over me.
Because Sienna has no ill intentions. I know it’s common for actors not to want to read the books for the films they’re in.
Much as it frustrates me in this case – perhaps irrationally, especially given I’m so protective of Amelia and probably blinded by that.
I’m not naive. I have to be realistic and rational.
I know this is how it works. Your agent puts you up for parts and you go for them, whether you’ve read the book or not.
But this only serves to strengthen my resolve. I cannot in a million years let myself screw this up.
Because otherwise, I’ll be replaced by someone who doesn’t know Amelia at all. And she deserves better than that.
Once Sienna has left, I make the most of the claw-footed bathtub, sinking into it in an attempt to reset ahead of tomorrow.
And after about an hour, I’m feeling better.
The resolve from earlier, with Sienna, still burning.
I get out and wrap myself in the fluffiest dressing gown I’ve ever seen and hear my phone ringing across the room.
Spencer’s caller ID flashes up on the screen.
‘Hey,’ I say, surprised he’s calling me.
‘Hello, stranger,’ he says, his tone bright.
I light up at the sound of it – a memory flashing up of hearing it around the house that makes me realise how much I’ve missed it.
Even if we didn’t interact much, it sounds familiar.
Comforting, among all the new experiences I’ve had in the last twenty-four hours. ‘How’s filming going?’
‘Oh, fine,’ I say, keeping my tone light. Because I don’t really feel like discussing any of it. If nothing else, I don’t need to psych myself out of the relative calm I’m feeling right now. ‘A lot of new stuff. But it’s fun, being on such a huge set.’
‘I bet,’ he replies. ‘Must be nice to have breakfast brought to you and runners at your every whim. The best I’ve ever had from the West End was someone who bought too many coffees for the stars by accident and gave me one by default.
But that’s what I get for choosing stage work and not big budgets. ’
I falter for a second, wanting to tell him that I’m not here for all that.
But I can tell from his tone that he doesn’t mean it.
It’s just my own insecurities coming up.
Wanting to be clear that I’m not just here for the money – I’m here because I love it.
Because the idea of reaching people is exciting to me.
‘Anyway,’ he says. ‘I wanted to ask about something. Two things, actually.’
‘Shoot.’
‘Well, the first is that Hannah and I are going for drinks next Thursday – and we wondered if you wanted to come?’
‘That’s so kind,’ I reply. ‘I think I’ll be too busy with filming, though.’
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘That’s what we expected. I’ll keep you posted though – we’re trying out pubs in West London over the next few weeks, so Hannah can check them off her list. I’ll let you know where we go next.’
‘Please do,’ I say, and my heart sinks a little – because I do feel bad. But I’m expecting to be on-set all hours. And I don’t want to say yes and let them down.
‘The second thing,’ he says, ‘is that we found a box under your bed. It was a bit of a fiasco, actually. The guy moving in is French, and for some reason thought he had to bring his own bed. So he insisted we dismantle yours and put his up instead. It’s been a fucking nightmare with the landlord.
But in the process, we found a box. I found the new guy rifling through it, but managed to get it off him.
It looks like it has some postcards in it.
I was wondering if you wanted to pick it up or whether you’d like me to store it for you? ’
Oh, God, I think, a sinking feeling dropping in my chest. Because I know exactly what box he’s talking about. The one I stored Avi’s postcards in. The one I almost opened a few weeks ago, before my first audition. The one I must have completely – or intentionally – forgotten about when packing up.
‘Um…’
‘It’s no issue if you want me to keep it for a bit,’ he says. ‘I know you’re busy – and I’m assuming they’re probably precious if you kept hold of them.’
‘They aren’t,’ I say quickly – too quickly. He pauses on the other end of the line. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s just… some correspondence. From an old friend.’
‘That’s nice,’ he says. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to keep hold of them?’
No, I think. Because there is a reason I kept hold of them for all these years – a reason I don’t really want to go into right now.
Because it involves the person I have to see on-set tomorrow.
The person who sent me those postcards regularly for six months.
Who flew home for the pub Christmas party that year.
Who kissed me, then freaked out and disappeared. Who texted me the next morning and broke my heart.
Who left after that and stopped talking to me at all.
I bite my lip, the pain coming back all at once. The memory of receiving that text: Last night was a mistake.
‘You can throw them away,’ I say, letting out a breath. Because that person isn’t here any more. I can’t keep holding on to relics of a friendship that no longer exists. I have to let them go. To see him as my colleague. Not anything else.
And maybe, if I do, I’ll be able to get through the next six weeks in one piece. And actually do a good job of this film.
‘Okay,’ Spencer says. ‘If you’re sure…’