Chapter 12 #2
We reached the top of the stairs, and Gillian lowered her voice again. She pointed at a closed, white, panelled door ahead of us. Cayla’s name was painted in pink italics on a lilac, ceramic plaque.
‘Just please try to convince her not to give up on her dream,’ said Gillian in a hush of desperation.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I assured her. ‘Her performance this afternoon was breathtaking.’
Gillian’s eyes misted over. ‘I just wish she’d believe in herself again.’ She tugged at the hem of her shirt before she knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door. ‘Sweetheart, can I come in?’
There was a monosyllabic grunt.
Gillian waggled her plucked brows at me and opened the door.
Cayla was perched on the edge of her bed. She was frowning down at a book in her hands.
‘Cayla?’
When she snapped the book shut, I noticed it was Twelfth Night.
She set it down on the bed covers beside her and looked up through her long fringe. Spotting me, she did a double-take.
‘Look who’s come to see you,’ said Gillian.
Cayla appraised me for a few seconds with wide eyes.
On her bedroom walls were glossy posters of Austin Butler and Millie Bobby Brown. Her framed movie ones ranged from About Time and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers to Notting Hill and My Fair Lady.
Sparkly scarves and chains of multi-coloured, glassy beads were suspended from the mirror of her bedside table over in the corner. Beside that was a bookcase, on which were propped copies of biographies from everyone from Marilyn Monroe to Dame Maggie Smith.
It was at that moment that Gillian took her cue. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I leave you two to have a chat, and I’ll bring up some tea for you both?’
Without waiting for Cayla to reply, I dumped my bag down by my feet. ‘I’d love a cup of tea. Thanks, Gillian. Just milk for me.’
Gillian looked fit to burst with delight. ‘Wonderful.’
She clicked the door shut behind her, leaving me and Cayla.
‘Sorry about that,’ she whispered shyly, her cheeks crimson. ‘I love my Mum, but she can be a bit cringe.’
‘I think most parents are, but they don’t mean to be.’ I shrugged off my pink jacket and set it down on the bed.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Is it ok if I sit down?’ I asked, gesturing to the white chair at her dressing table and not answering her question.
‘Sure.’
Cayla eyed me. ‘’How did you find out where I lived?’
‘Mrs Hazelwood told me.’
I could see her turning this over in her head. ‘You were amazing in Sinister. It was such a cool series.’
‘Thank you. I appreciate that. Pity some of the reviews weren’t as positive.’
‘You got bad reviews?’
‘Fox. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him?’
Cayla rolled her eyes. ‘Isn’t he the prick who has his own column in that newspaper? He doesn’t praise anyone.’
I laughed. ‘Yes, he’s the one.’
Cayla shuffled closer on her bed. ‘So, what’s next for you? What role have you got lined up now? Oh wait. Maybe you can’t tell me! Is it a secret?’
Now it was my turn to adjust my position on the dressing table chair. ‘Taking a bit of a break at the moment.’ I paused. ‘Your Mum said you’ve wanted to get into acting ever since you were younger.’
Cayla fiddled with the corner of her duvet. ‘I did.’ Her words picked up speed. ‘To be honest, the more I think about it, the more I think I’m not good enough.’
‘What makes you say that?’
She didn’t answer.
‘Who told you that?’
‘No one. I just decided.’
My jaw gritted with temper. Bloody bullies! If only they could see what negative effect their spiteful actions had. But then again, would they even care?
I pointed to the copy of Twelfth Night lying beside her. ‘I understand why you love it so much. You did Olivia’s monologue justice today, and then some.’
Cayla flicked her fringe out of her eyes. ‘Thanks.’ She jammed her lips together. ‘Some of the other kids think I’m weird.’
‘Why?’
Her freckled complexion pinked even more. ‘Because I like reading Shakespeare and acting. They say I think I’m better than them, but I don’t.’
It sounded like history repeating itself. I shook my head. ‘There’s nothing wrong with not running with the crowd. It’s good to be different.’
She didn’t say anything.
I twisted round further in my chair. ‘I had the same sort of thing at school. I got bullied too for a while because I wanted to be an actor. And some of the other kids teased me because I was raised by my grandparents.’
Cayla toyed with the ends of her hair. ‘What happened to your mum and dad? Oh, sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘No. Don’t worry, it’s ok.’ I sat back on the dressing table chair as I told her the short and sorry story.
‘Wow.’ Cayla digested this. ‘That’s pretty shit.’
I buried a smile. ‘It was at the time, I suppose. Look, Cayla, don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do something. Go for what you want.’
At that moment there was a rap on the door, and Gillian entered clutching a tray laden with two cups of tea and a plate of shortbread fingers. ‘Hope you’re having a good talk.’ She smiled before leaving again. I picked up on her hopeful smile as she eased the bedroom door closed behind her.
‘You’re seriously talented. I’m not just saying that. Don’t turn your back on what you want to do and then regret it later.’
She twitched her nose and looked thoughtful.
‘My Dad wanted to become an actor,’ I remarked.
‘Did he?’ Her ears pricked up with curiosity.
‘Oh yes. But he ended up not fulfilling his dream and became an estate agent.’
Cayla resumed picking at her duvet. ‘Maybe he was like me. Not good enough.’
I sighed and reached for my cup of tea. I took a considered sip and set it down again on the saucer. Cayla picked up her tea next and cradled it in her hands.
‘Cayla, you can let the bullies define who you are and prevent you from doing something special with your life. Or you can decide to take a chance and go for it.’
She took a mouthful of tea.
I hesitated before I spoke again. ‘Their behaviour says everything about them and nothing about you. They’ll have been jealous because you have a talent and a chance to do something with it.
’ I retrieved my cup of tea beside me and took another mouthful.
‘Mrs Hazelwood told me what a terrible time you’ve had. ’
Cayla made me jump by clattering her teacup back down on its saucer. ‘It’s got nothing to do with any of that.’ I wasn’t fooled for a moment. She was struggling to look at me.
‘And my mum had no right letting you in here.’ Her cheeks were popping with red. ‘Maybe she’s just frustrated and wants to live out her dreams through me. She shouldn’t have been talking about me, anyway.’
‘Cayla…’
She shook her head, sending her fringe tumbling further into her spangly, green eyes. ‘I know you’re only trying to be nice and I appreciate it. But I’ve decided I don’t want to act anymore, so you’re just wasting your time.’
‘Cayla, if you tell yourself that often enough, you might start to believe it. But I don’t.’
Ignoring me, she jumped up from the bed in a flurry of loose hair and cotton T-shirt. Her voice wobbled. ‘I think you should go now. Thanks anyway.’
‘But Cayla…’
Her eyes were shining with tears. ‘Please.’
I slipped on my jacket, bundled up my bag and closed the bedroom door behind me, almost crashing into Gillian.
I encouraged her back down the stairs so we could talk without Cayla overhearing.
‘How did you get on, Daisy?’
I pulled a pained expression. ‘Not very well, I’m afraid. She said she’s decided she doesn’t want to act anymore.’
Her mother’s optimistic expression collapsed. ‘If I could get my bloody hands on that little witch Carina Whitelaw! It’s a good job she’s no longer a pupil at the school.’
I listened sympathetically. ‘Cayla’s got it into her head that she doesn’t have what it takes, but from what I’ve seen, she definitely does.’
Gillian folded her arms. ‘Thank you for trying to talk to her anyway, Daisy. I really do appreciate it.’
‘You’re welcome. She might change her mind if you leave the subject be. You know what teenagers can be like.’ I offered a brief smile. ‘And if she does want to talk to me again, you have my number.’
Gillian thanked me and stood at the front door.
I reached the end of their garden path. Something made me want to turn around and look up. Cayla’s pair of lavender curtains twitched. Her forlorn, freckled face was peeking out.
When I looked up again, she’d gone.