Chapter Eight
It was only when I got to the lobby of my building that I realised what a long day it had been.
It felt like absolutely days ago rather than hours since I’d left that morning, and I said goodnight to the evening concierge, Tom, before heading up in the lift to the eighth floor.
I slid my key into the lock and as the door shut behind me, I couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief that the place I came back to was all my own.
The calmness of the cool powder-blue walls with white trim greeted me like an old friend, and I set my keys and bag down on the table in the entrance hall next to the big glass vase full of fresh flowers before heading to the living room and sinking into the cream bouclé sofa.
I had only ever lived with my parents or in houses rented by the studio during filming, before I bought this place.
I’d been away a lot, hotel and plane hopping while promoting the last film, Wonderwick Woods: Into the Shadow Realm.
I always found myself wondering when I would ever really get to enjoy my first big purchase, paid for with the money I’d spent my adolescence earning.
I slid the big glass doors open, feeling the cool air hit my skin and the sound of cars on the street below fill my ears.
Ahead of me, the vast expanse of Regent’s Park spread like a black hole before the lights of the West End glittered in the distance.
In the darkness, the park looked slightly ominous, but in the daylight it was my happy place, somewhere I could run in loops for miles without getting bored, and I had found that when you’re running, people were less likely to stop you for a selfie.
I couldn’t help wondering where Josh and Darcy were now.
Not that I minded, of course, they could do what they wanted.
And besides, I probably needed to get over myself, stop thinking that everything they do is somehow going to affect me. But . . . what if it did?
After a few minutes of peace on the balcony, I headed back inside and resigned myself to the fact that it may be late, but I had a job to do.
Through the wood-framed archway into the bedroom, I flicked on the warm light cast by the milky glass orbs overhead.
Pulling both my Louis Vuitton trunk suitcases out from under my bed, I went about packing to head off to set in the morning.
I slid open the wardrobes, which moved seamlessly on silky mechanisms, and looked at the comforting sea of navy, grey, camel, cream and white in front of me.
Pulling out a strategically chosen array of clothes, I ran my fingers over the beautiful pieces I would never take for granted – the silk slip dresses, the cashmere sweaters, the cotton jackets, the denim jeans cut exactly to my measurements, the things I didn’t know if I necessarily deserved but totally treasured anyway.
Next, I headed to my bookshelves (naturally the first thing I had unpacked in my new flat) and took .
. . well, more than enough to keep me going for the shoot.
Yes, they weighed me down but there was no substitute for a real book.
I’d tried the digital reading thing after Josh hid my book one too many times, but it didn’t feel the same.
I missed the smell, the texture of the paper, the fonts, the joy of seeing the cover design, plus I didn’t want Josh to ‘win’. He was always winning.
When you’ve spent as much time on the road as I have, you get quite good at packing.
The problem was that other than my clothes and my books, a lot of my other things were still in boxes – boxes that were artfully hidden in big cupboards rather than sitting out in the open, but in boxes nonetheless.
I’d been getting by with a hairbrush that a beauty brand had sent me, but I missed the Mason Pearson brush that I knew was buried in a moving box somewhere, and I wanted to find it before I left.
The first box I started to dig around in was full of kitchen stuff, the second contained even more makeup than was already unpacked, and as I went rummaging in the third, I discovered it contained miscellaneous ‘bits’.
As soon as my hand hit the hard plastic, I knew exactly what I’d found.
I couldn’t help but smile as I drew it out of the box.
And there it was: my first ever photo pass for the Wonderwick set.
Look, I may be a fashion girl now but once upon a time I was thirteen years old and thought I knew how to put together an outfit.
Unfortunately that look was now immortalised for all time in the form of this photo, and I’ll never get rid of it.
I looked down at that face, my face, and tried to remember what it felt like before .
. . all this. Of course I knew it was going to be a big deal – the Wonderwick books were huge, I was a devoted fan of them myself, and everyone had been wanting a film series for years – but I don’t think I could have ever have known what it would all feel like.
Back then, I only thought about it in terms of going to the set, doing the acting, and then going with my few school friends to see the film in the cinema.
I didn’t think about all the rest of it.
The actual fame, the travelling the world, the sense of being in the public eye, the glamour and the insecurity.
But seven years ago I was not thinking about any of that, I was only thinking of what the best possible outfit would be for my first day of my new life as a real actress, which I decided would be an iridescent lilac top, a pair of khaki trousers and, for some reason, a choker.
This photo didn’t show my feet which was a small mercy, because if it did you would see a pair of cowboy boots, which had not experienced their renaissance at that point.
My mum gently suggested I went for something a little more understated but I thought it was the coolest combination I had ever seen, and you couldn’t have talked me out of it if your life depended on it.
Obviously, the outfit hadn’t quite stood the test of time, but instead of being embarrassed, I felt a little swell of pride for my old self.
Charging off to set with all my lines learned, an encyclopaedic knowledge of the books, a frankly wild outfit chosen for the occasion and with no idea what I was letting myself in for.
Good for you, I thought, looking down at my photo.
I would have been about thirty minutes away from meeting Josh Sacco for the first time, at which point my day, and perhaps life, took a nosedive, but I was happy that this moment had been preserved forever under frosted plastic on a Smithdown Studios lanyard.
As I climbed into bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets feeling like a luxurious cocoon, I was filled with a powerful mix of excitement and fatigue.
Half of me wished we could have just one day off, just one day with no plans, no parties, no meetings, nowhere to be and nothing to do before we had to head to set.
But the other half was raring to go, as fizzy with excitement to get to the set tomorrow as I felt the night before I headed off, a little thirteen-year-old girl, to enter the Forest of Wonderwick.