‘We’re going to need a bigger boat,’ Greta joked in her best Sheriff Brody voice from Jaws.
Laughter. Thank God.
Louise handed her the full pack of tissues. Greta nodded her thanks, then walked at a snail’s pace back to her mark, mopping her face as she went.
‘Would you like a glass of water?’ the man-child asked. His face had landed on a sneer.
Greta felt that she was in danger of losing them before she’d even started. She had to take control of the situation. So she straightened her back and said, ‘No thank you. I’m excited to read for you. I have never felt more connected to a part before. I am Clara. Albeit a sweaty one right now. But that’s real life for you. If Clara had been through my commute of a flight, the Gatwick Express, and then two Tube rides that frankly felt like an endurance test, then she’d be …’ She motioned towards her soggy face.
‘The Tube was like a sauna this morning,’ Man-child agreed.
‘Why do you think you’re a good fit for Clara?’ Earring lady asked.
‘Well, to start with, I look like her. Or at least how you described her, and how I read her in the script. She’s sassy. She’s got style. I’m the same size as her – not Bridget Jones fat – which has to be a plus.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Louise asked.
‘Bridget Jones was meant to be overweight. But clearly in the movie she was just an average-sized woman. I mean if Bridget Jones is fat, what does that make me? Actually, don’t answer that.’
Earring lady smiled. ‘You know what bugs me every Christmas? The way everyone keeps referring to Natalie in Love Actually as chubby and plump! Martine McCutcheon has a lovely figure.’
‘Yes! I felt sorry for Aurélia’s sister in that movie. They described her as Miss Dunkin’ Donut 2013. And pretty much said that she was too fat and ugly to get a man,’ Greta said. ‘Mind you, she was a bit weird the way she kissed Colin Firth.’
Heartened by their laughter, Greta continued, ‘I want to assure you that most days I can pull this look off.’ Greta laid her headshot and CV onto the table in front of them. She was proud of that photograph. She looked like herself, just the very best version possible.
They picked it up and passed it from one to the other.
‘Actually, this is how I saw Clara in my mind’s eye,’ Earring lady said to Louise and the man-child.
Louise said to her panel, ‘By the way, Greta played the part of that cute kid in the biscuit Christmas advert.’
‘I love that advert!’ Earring lady said.
This was Greta’s only real claim to fame. Her one big TV moment. Twenty-five years earlier, she had been cast in a Christmas advert for biscuits. The advert in question was played for the first time just before The Late Late Toy Show began, one of Ireland’s favourite Christmas TV shows on RTÉ One.
‘You were so cute!’ Earring lady enthused, clearly a fan.
And she wasn’t the only one who thought so. The nation sighed a collective aww when the pigtailed little Greta, in her red plaid pyjamas, filled their TV screens. She walked into her living room, wiping her tired eyes with her little chubby hands, where she found a rosy-cheeked Santa eating biscuits she’d left for him earlier. ‘I want one too, Santa!’ she cried with a perfect pout, one hand held on her hip. Then she snatched a biscuit from Santa’s white-gloved hand. He laughed a big ho, ho, ho, and the advert ended with the little girl winking at the camera. It was an instant Christmas hit, one of those adverts that never failed to make people yearn for yesteryear and good old family values.
‘Say the line!’ Earring lady begged.
Greta put a hand on her hip, then said, ‘I want one too, Santa!’, then winked at them all. They all clapped and Greta took a bow. The biscuit advert that had haunted her for years was helping her out of a tight spot. ‘Twenty-five years later and some things never change!’
‘I like that! OK, let’s hear your prepared piece,’ Louise said, scribbling something into her notebook.
Greta straightened her back and began to recite her Clara monologue. As soon as the first word left her, she felt a familiar shift, as she morphed into Clara. She felt the energy in the room change too as the panel sat forward and listened to her words. This was it. The stars were finally aligning in her favour.
She finished her lines, ending with a perfectly arched raised eyebrow. Greta took a moment to compose herself, then looked over to the panel to check out their reaction. They loved it!
‘Excellent work, Greta,’ Louise said. ‘I really enjoyed that, a truly believable performance.’
‘Thank you!’ Greta said and resisted the urge to do a victory dance. ‘If you cast me, I promise I’ll eat, sleep and dream Clara! I’ll work so hard, I won’t let you down.’
‘I believe you!’ Man-child said, grinning now too. It was an unadulterated smile-fest in the audition room now. ‘Can we confirm that you are available in September for filming?’
She might not know his name, but right now Greta wanted to run across the room, take his baby face between her hands and kiss him. ‘I know I should be all cool here and tell you that I need to check my diary. But honest to goodness, I’d cancel my own wedding to do this show if you cast me.’
‘I told you she was funny,’ Louise said, then turned to Greta. ‘We’ll be in touch. Now go and get a cold drink – you look like you need one.’
Greta grabbed her bags, adrenalin pumping through her body, and she Beyoncé’d her way out of the room, messaging Dylan as soon as she got to the lobby.
Greta: I nailed it! They asked me if I was free for filming later this year.
Dylan: I knew you would. You better not forget me when you get this part and leave Inspector Clueless behind.
Greta: How very dare you. I liv and breeve for ze murder in ze Castle.
Dylan: Ha! Go out and celebrate. I think you’d love Soho – there’s loads of fringe theatres in the West End.
Greta: I’m gonna peel back this city’s juicy layers and take a big old bite out of it. Promise. Chat later!
By the time she’d taken the two Tube rides to get to her hotel, her adrenalin had leaked a bit. It didn’t help that the ten-minute walk to the hotel from the Tube turned into a twenty-minute hike because she turned right instead of left when she exited the station. Exhausted, she told herself that as everything was open so late in London, it made sense that she should take a short break to recharge. She’d been up since the crack of dawn and her stomach growled, reminding her that she’d not eaten since her breakfast. She popped into a Sainsbury’s Local on the way to the hotel to pick up some refreshments. With the audition going so well, surely she could treat herself to a celebration? Wine, cheese, crackers, chocolate and crisps. She threw in a bunch of grapes, an apple and a pear too, sorting her five a day. She’d snack, rest, then head to the West End early in the evening.
But when Greta got back to the hotel, the buzz of the audition had worn off replaced by all-too-familiar doubts creeping in. Greta sipped a glass of wine and munched on a bag of cheese and onion crisps, trying to switch off her brain to the constant buzz of the what-ifs. Would the sweating put them off? Or had she managed to turn the audition around with her reading? What were they whispering about when she delivered that final line? What if her five minutes of fame had happened when she was a child in that Christmas advert and that was it for her? This thought crippled her more than anything else. She simply could not imagine a world where she wasn’t an actress. The feeling of transformation when she played a role – sharing a character’s pain, happiness, fear or joy with an audience – was all consuming. Being someone else. Leaving Greta Gale behind. If she wasn’t an actress, then who or what was she? Over and over, the thoughts continued, until her eyes stung and her head pounded. She couldn’t ditch the feeling that time was running out for her. Her eyes stung with tiredness because she’d only managed a few hours’ sleep the night before. But yet her mind would not switch off. On and on it continued, telling her she wasn’t g
ood enough. If she could just lose some weight, then maybe people would pay more attention to her? Maybe then she would be more than the fat girl with sweat patches under her arms. She disgusted herself, she couldn’t really blame anyone else for feeling the same way.
When had her life gone so pear-shaped? Then she noticed the green pear she’d bought earlier. Lying toppled on its side, wobbling on a round body. And she started to sob, because she didn’t want to be a pear any more.
Enough. Only one thing could ever silence her horrible, sad thoughts.
Greta opened her toiletry bag and pulled out her pack of sleeping tablets. She placed one onto her tongue, then washed it down with a glass of red. Then she broke a second one in half and popped that in too.
London could wait.
Chapter 3
Greta was disorientated at first. She couldn’t remember where she was, and even though the room was pitch black, something about it felt wrong. Different. This wasn’t home. Then her brain clicked into gear, and her memory came back. She was in a hotel. In London. The sound of housekeeping banging on her hotel room door startled her, alerting her to the fact that it was well after eleven a.m., her checkout time. She pulled herself up to a sitting position and looked around the room in alarm. Strewn across the floor were empty packets of crisps and chocolate. She’d eaten all of this? She closed her eyes and tried to piece together the events of the previous evening. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep at about four in the afternoon. Nearly twelve hours previously. And she’d only eaten one bag of crisps before that. She was sure of that fact.
Something was slipping inside her; her control on the situation, on herself, on life. She was losing … she just wasn’t sure what that was yet. It must be jet lag, from the early flight.
She pushed aside the fact that there was no time zone change between Ireland and the UK. Her hands itched to find her bottle of tablets again. Had she taken another tablet during the night? Her rule of an occasional tablet to help with her insomnia and anxiety had somehow drifted to one every night these past few months …
She took a quick shower, dressed, packed her case and made her way to the airport. She noticed she had dozens of missed calls and messages from her family. A flurry of messages had come in from various Gales throughout the morning. Including a new text message from Aidan.
Aidan: Why do you have to be such a bitch? Just let Mam and Dad know you are alive.
Talk about going over the top. She wasn’t a seven-year-old. She was a grown woman!
Greta: Soz Mam and Dad. Did I nearly give you a heart attack with the worry? I’m such an eejit. I left my charger on the train yesterday and phone went dead. Had to buy a new one today. Hope you weren’t too worried. London is so much fun! Love it here. G x
That should quieten them all down. And she would even be magnanimous with Aidan when he apologized for his unnecessary comment. After all, it was hardly her fault she had no charge for her phone.
That was the thing with lies, when you told enough of them, they became easier to believe.
After traipsing through security, and feeling ravenous because she’d missed breakfast, she headed to Burger King for a Chicken Sandwich meal. An hour later she boarded her flight. The meal she’d eaten made her feel sluggish. She wished she could click her heels and be at home in her warm bed. Once she was buckled into her seatbelt, with the help of the extender strap, she thought about the half tablet from the night before. She scooped it out and swallowed it dry.
Hands gripped her shoulders, shaking her, hard. It hurt and Greta shrugged them off. A voice shouted in her ear, ‘Are you OK? Hello? Are you OK, miss?’
Greta opened her eyes and realized that her head was slumped against the aeroplane seat in front of her. She could feel the imprint of the table-top on her forehead. She looked around and saw that the plane was empty. They’d landed in Dublin and she couldn’t even remember taking off in Gatwick. Greta wiped away a line of drool that was making its way down her chin. Her face flamed as she felt a flush rush over her body, top to toe. Please don’t let me have done anything stupid.
‘It looked like you weren’t breathing there for a minute. I got quite a fright,’ the stewardess said.
‘What must you think of me? I’m so sorry. Honestly, I’m an eejit,’ Greta replied. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night; it must have caught up on me. Someone had a party in the room next door to me in my hotel. It kept me awake all night.’
‘I thought you were dead.’
Greta put her two hands up and did her best zombie impression. ‘I feel a bit like the walking dead, for sure.’ Greta unclipped her belt. The stewardess looked unsure. Greta wanted to get off the plane and away from her probing eyes and questions. She’d been stupid to take a pill when on public transport. Rookie error. She needed to be more careful. And as Greta made her way through the arrivals hall, that new feeling joined the regular residents of shame and embarrassment that lived inside her these days. She was scared. But she didn’t have time to analyse that because her mother was waiting for her, smiling, eyes bright with expectation. Emily opened her arms to welcome her daughter home.
‘All OK, love?’
Greta could still feel the imprint of the hard seat on her forehead, where she’d slumped for the one-hour flight. But she pushed that away and gushed, ‘Mam, London was amazeballs. Honestly, we have to go together soon! The view from the London Eye is incredible. It made me quite emotional, took my breath away.’
‘You wouldn’t get me up into one of those things! Look at you, all flushed with excitement from the trip!’
Greta thought about the too-small seatbelts, the sweating and the blackouts. ‘It’s been so much fun. And they loved me in the audition. Nailed it!’
‘Course they loved you. That dress was beautiful on you. The nicest thing I’ve seen on you in years.’
‘Thanks, Mam. I felt really good in it.’
‘Did you take lots of photos?’
‘I couldn’t, Mam. No charge on my phone, remember? And I really am sorry about scaring you.’
‘That’s all right love. Once you are safe and happy, I’m happy. When will you hear about the part do you think?’ Emily asked as she paid for the airport car park.
Greta shrugged. ‘It’s hard to know. Could be weeks. But they did ask me if I was free in September when they start shooting.’
‘I’ll start the novenas tonight then. No harm in asking for a bit of help from up there,’ Emily said as she fed money into the car-park machine, and Greta wondered if the nine days of prayer might indeed make the difference between success and failure.
All of a sudden Greta felt the ground swoop up towards her. Her head swam and her eyes blurred as she grabbed onto the wall to steady herself.
Emily missed the whole thing. She chattered on, happily unaware of her daughter’s light-headedness. As she was about to get into the driver’s seat, her phone rang. ‘Oh, it’s your aunty Amanda!’ She tossed the car keys to Greta and said, ‘You’d better drive home. I haven’t spoken to her since she got home from New York last week.’
Greta knew she should tell her mother that she didn’t feel well enough to drive. She was out of sorts, woozy from her sleep on the flight. But her mother was oblivious to everything but the animated conversation she was already having with her sister. They were close and spoke every few days. Sometimes they drove each other mad, and her mother often called her Amazing Amanda behind her back, because her life was … well, amazing. But it was said in affection.
‘What are you waiting for, G?’ Emily said. ‘We want to beat the M50 traffic before the evening rush.’
You should drive, Mam. I don’t feel well. But the words in Greta’s head refused to form. She couldn’t cope with the inevitable questions that her admission would evoke. The looks she would be given, the unsaid accusations about her weight and the effect it was having on her health. So Greta shook herself both mentally and physically, then switched the engine on. She cou
ld do this drive in her sleep. Greta stifled a yawn. For someone who found it hard to sleep most of the time, right now she’d give anything to close her eyes.
The traffic was kind, and Greta was on the M50 in under five minutes. She stayed in the slow lane and turned the air con down to fifteen, its lowest setting. She needed the cold blast to keep awake.
‘One-sec, Mand’ …’ Emily paused her conversation and fiddled with the air con. ‘Are you trying to turn me to ice?! Honestly sometimes, G …’
As the temperature rose from ice cold to warm, Greta felt the weight of lead pushing her eyelids closed. Her feet felt numb. She felt her head loll down but jumped back up when her mother’s voice exclaimed loudly, ‘Go away! As big as that? Well, I never …’
Greta was surprised when she found herself turning into her road. She had driven the twenty-five-minute journey to Lucan on autopilot.
‘Greta! In the name of God, what are you doing!’ Emily shrieked suddenly.
Greta’s eyes opened just in time to see their car moving towards the lawn outside Mrs Oaks’s house, their next-door neighbour. She pushed down hard on the brakes, but it was too late to stop or swerve back onto the road. She felt her mother’s hand on her arm, and heard her screams. But the car continued through Mrs Oaks’s rhododendron bushes, before hitting the side of her garage face on. The airbags exploded on impact and Greta blacked out for the third time in less than twenty-four hours.
When she came to, the first thing she noticed was the smell. Then she heard her mother whimpering beside her. Mam! She turned towards her and saw blood trickling down the side of Emily’s face. What had she done? What was that smell? Smoke. Was the car on fire? Mam. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry, Mam.
Emily got out of the car, staggering as she stood up. She walked around to the driver’s side and pulled Greta out. ‘Are you OK?’
Greta nodded, unable to speak, shocked by the blood on her mother’s head. It made her feel ill, and she felt the contents of her stomach heave. She proceeded to vomit everything up onto the grass.
My Pear-Shaped Life: The most gripping and heartfelt page-turner of 2020! Page 4
