by Jo Cotterill
Fliss looked down at the floor. Why is everything so unfair? she thought. And at the same time, she felt guilty for feeling that way. She was the luckiest girl in the world to have the chance to play Juliet! And it was her own fault she wasn’t going out with Tom – she had turned him down, after all. ‘Things were a bit easier before . . .’
Candy nodded. ‘I know. And you need to remember that in the grown-up theatrical world, these things happen all the time. People are thrown together. They have to pretend to feel very intense emotions. Sometimes that spills over into real life too – people get together, split up, all sorts – but they still have to perform on stage as though none of that is happening.’
‘But I’m not in the grown-up theatrical world.’
‘Not yet,’ said Candy, ‘but one day you should be. You have real talent, Fliss. Real natural talent. You have an instinctive ear for dialogue, and you move around the stage so well. But you won’t get anywhere without focus. And that kind of goes for real life too.’ She took a step back and considered Fliss. ‘Maybe this is a time of challenge for you – on and off stage. Focus will give you determination, and determination will give you confidence. Use it.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Besides, things change very quickly. Today, Tom and Samantha are going out together. Tomorrow they might not be. But whatever your feelings for him, and whoever he’s going out with, you still have to play Juliet to his Romeo. Yes?’
Candy looked quite strict as she said this, but Fliss felt as though she understood in some way. And instead of being saddened, she felt stronger. Candy thought she could do this part. Candy expected certain things from her. She owed it to Candy to behave in a professional manner. Fliss took a breath and lifted her head. ‘Yes.’
‘Right.’ Candy heaved a sigh. ‘I suppose I’d better go out and see what’s going on. But I warn you, Fliss, I intend to bring everyone back in here and carry on with the rehearsal. I can’t afford to lose time like this.’
Fliss looked at her steadily. ‘I’ll be ready.’
‘Good girl.’
Chapter 8
there’s no money in acting
‘OH, DIDN’T I tell you Vivienne was coming round for dinner?’ said Jeanette, as the door bell rang and Fliss looked surprised. ‘She was so sorry she had to cancel the other week, so we rearranged for tonight.’
‘Oh,’ said Fliss. That explained why her mother was wearing an apron and trying to concoct some very complicated recipe involving chicken and avocado.
‘Can you get the door for me, Felicity?’ asked Jeanette, distractedly running her hands through her hair. ‘I don’t think those avocados were ripe enough . . . I hope they cook properly.’
Fliss went to get the door, marvelling as always how a visit from Vivienne could send her mother into complete hysteria. ‘Felicity, sweetheart!’ cried Vivienne, kissing her on both cheeks. A waft of expensive perfume flew up Fliss’s nose and nearly made her sneeze. ‘What is Jeanette cooking? It smells divine!’
Fliss trailed Vivienne into the kitchen. ‘Oh goodness!’ cried Jeanette, smoothing her hair back with a floury hand. ‘You aren’t supposed to come in here!’
‘Why ever not?’ said Vivienne, looking around. ‘The kitchen is the heart of the home, I often say. We have many conversations round our kitchen table – life, love, the way of the world. I’m sure it’s the same here.’
Fliss looked at her mother, who was nodding. ‘Of course, er – of course. All sorts.’ Fliss hid a smile. Conversations round their kitchen table consisted mostly of who was going to win The X Factor, but Fliss knew her mother would never admit that to Vivienne.
‘I brought wine,’ said Vivienne. ‘It’s a French Sauvignon Blanc. I never know whether to trust the ones from Chile. And South Africa is in a dreadful mess. You know where you are with France.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be lovely,’ said Jeanette, rustling around in the drawer for a corkscrew.
Vivienne waved it away. ‘Oh, I don’t need that. This is a screw cap. All the best wines have screw caps now.’
‘Right.’ Jeanette was flustered. ‘Well. Get the wine glasses out, Felicity.’
As Fliss dug around in the cupboard to find two wine glasses that matched, she heard Vivienne whisper to Jeanette, ‘She’s looking a bit peaky. What’s happened?’
‘She won’t tell me,’ Jeanette whispered back.
‘Could be glandular fever,’ said Vivienne. ‘Cod liver oil, that’s what she needs. And ginseng. That’ll pep her up. I’ll send you some.’ She beamed at Fliss as she emerged with the wine glasses. ‘Thanks so much.’
‘Dinner should be about ten minutes,’ said Jeanette, frowning at the oven. ‘Or possibly twenty.’
‘Are those avocados?’ asked Vivienne, spotting the empty skins by the sink. ‘Darling, I hope they were really ripe. They’re such a pain to cook well.’
Jeanette looked terrified. ‘Yes,’ she managed.
Fliss came to the rescue. ‘Vivienne, would you like to come and sit down in the front room? I’m sure Mum will be through in a moment, won’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Jeanette, throwing Fliss a grateful look. ‘Two secs. I just have to turn out the pudding.’
Vivienne sank into the most comfortable chair in the room and looked critically at Fliss. ‘Now don’t take this the wrong way,’ she said, ‘but have you ever thought of doing something else with your hair?’
‘My hair?’ said Fliss.
‘Yes.’ Vivienne gestured around her own head. ‘It’s just that every time I see you, it looks exactly the same. So – straight. Have you ever thought of curling it? Or twisting it up? Even a French plait would add a bit of variety.’
‘I don’t know how to do a French plait,’ said Fliss, reddening.
Vivienne looked at her pityingly. ‘Sweetheart, it’s easy. You just need a bit of practice and someone to show you how.’ She shook her head and smiled. ‘My Sofie mastered it in about ten minutes when I showed her. Would you like me to show you too?’
‘Oh,’ said Fliss, alarmed, ‘that’s very kind of you, but, um . . .’
Jeanette bustled in from the kitchen, minus her apron. ‘Whew!’ she said, lifting her glass. ‘Good to see you, Vivienne!’
Vivienne raised her own glass in answer. ‘You too, Jeanette. Felicity, are you not having any?’
‘Felicity doesn’t drink,’ said Jeanette before Fliss could speak.
‘Doesn’t drink?’ echoed Vivienne in some astonishment. ‘But all the young people are out getting drunk these days. Isn’t it the fashion?’
Jeanette shook her head. ‘Not Fliss. She’s never liked it. I gave her some wine on her tenth birthday and she was sick. Wouldn’t touch it after that.’
‘Well,’ said Vivienne. ‘I’ve heard it all now.’ She sniffed. ‘Can you smell something burning?’
Jeanette jumped up as if she’d been shot. ‘The chicken!’ she yelped and vanished into the kitchen. ‘It’s all right!’ they heard her call a moment later. ‘Caught it just in time! Do sit up at the table and I’ll bring it through.’
‘Can’t wait,’ said Vivienne sweetly, and Fliss could have kicked her. You did that on purpose, she thought. Sending Mum off to the kitchen a bundle of nerves. Why do you always do that to people?
The chicken and avocado turned out surprisingly well, and even Vivienne found it hard to criticize. ‘However, dear,’ she said, ‘I do recommend using a hand blender for making mash – it’s the only really certain way of getting out the lumps and you end up with such a creamy consistency.’
Jeanette nodded and smiled through gritted teeth.
‘So,’ said Vivienne, having offered her opinions on how Jeanette should update her décor, her own new car and its desirable qualities, the sad death of the old lady next door, (‘but at least now the place won’t smell so badly of cats’) and the local hospital (‘waiting times are a disgrace’), ‘Felicity. Jeanette tells me you’re doing a little play in the park soon.’
‘Yes,’ said Fliss
. ‘Romeo and Juliet.’
‘Oh, Shakespeare,’ said Vivienne dismissively. ‘Not my favourite playwright. Give me a good Ayckbourn any day. At least you know where you are with him. And Romeo and Juliet – how very GCSE. Which part are you playing?’
‘Juliet.’
Vivienne’s perfectly arched eyebrows climbed into her fringe. ‘Really! Aren’t you a little young?’
‘Juliet is only thirteen,’ said Fliss defensively, feeling that this fact made her, if anything, on the old side.
‘But didn’t I read Judi Dench saying somewhere that in order to really capture the innocence of Juliet, one needed to have experienced the rigours of true love in real life?’ Vivienne shook her head. ‘Which would of course mean that one would need to be at least twenty before one was qualified.’
Fliss puzzled over this. ‘Do you mean you can’t be in love before the age of twenty?’ she asked hesitantly.
Vivienne looked astonished that her opinion was being questioned. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘you’re talking about crushes. Not the same thing at all, I think you’ll find.’ She sighed. ‘I myself had several crushes at school. So did your mother, as I recall – only see how that turned out.’
Jeanette turned scarlet and hastily spooned some mash into her mouth to avoid speaking.
Fliss felt embarrassed on her mother’s behalf. ‘If you’re talking about my father, that wasn’t a crush,’ she found herself saying. ‘He loved her too.’
‘I don’t want to discuss this right now,’ said Jeanette loudly.
‘I’m not saying it wasn’t intense,’ said Vivienne, laying a sympathetic hand on Jeanette’s. ‘But love as a teen is always an immature love. Blind love. You haven’t the wisdom to step back and evaluate.’ She drew back her hand and smiled in a satisfied way. ‘That’s why I felt I had to get involved when Sofie brought home a most unsuitable boy. Of course, that was a long time ago now.’
‘How is she getting on?’ asked Jeanette quickly, delighted to be able to switch topics.
‘Well.’ Vivienne sat back and prepared to talk about her second favourite topic – her daughter. ‘She’s having a tough time at the moment, I gather. Teacher training is so paper-heavy these days. And they do insist on giving you placements in inner-city schools, where it’s more about crowd control than teaching. But from what she tells me, she’s doing superbly well. Distinctions or whatever they are in her exams. And all her observations and assessments are outstanding.’
‘Teaching sounds very stressful,’ remarked Jeanette.
‘It is,’ said Vivienne, ‘but I keep saying if she sticks with it, the rewards will be great. She can have her pick of the jobs. And she teaches English! Well, there’ll always be a need for English teachers, won’t there? She thought she wanted to do Science, but she soon realized English was a better idea.’
I bet you made her do English, thought Fliss. Even though she wanted to do Science. And I bet that boy she brought home wasn’t unsuitable at all. You just didn’t like him, so you told her to get rid of him. For a sudden moment, she felt absurdly grateful that Vivienne wasn’t her mother.
Vivienne’s gaze settled on Fliss. ‘And what are you going to be when you grow up?’
Fliss’s eyes darted towards her mother. ‘I haven’t decided,’ she mumbled.
‘Oh, come on now,’ said Vivienne indulgently. ‘What are you good at?’
‘She always gets top grades in French and Spanish,’ said Jeanette.
Vivienne’s eyes brightened. ‘There you are! Languages in the modern world are going to be absolutely invaluable. Goodness knows the amount of jobs that are available to people who can speak another language. You could be a translator. Or, or . . .’ Vivienne’s imagination faltered, ‘or a spook!’
‘A what?’
‘A spook!’ Vivienne was almost falling off her chair with excitement. ‘You know – MI5! The security services! They always want bright young things with language skills. Oh, Jeanette, just think.’ Vivienne nodded. ‘Your Felicity could be saving the country.’
Jeanette’s eyes were round. ‘Fancy that,’ she breathed. ‘I never thought of something like that. Of course, you see them on the television. Go into Parliament sometimes, they do. Advise the Prime Minister.’
Both of them sat back and stared at Fliss, who felt distinctly uncomfortable. A slightly worried look came over Jeanette’s face. ‘Of course,’ she murmured, ‘it doesn’t seem very – well, very Felicity, if you see what I mean.’
‘I do see what you mean,’ said Vivienne, ‘but on the other hand, what a wonderful opportunity. It would open so many doors.’
‘She’d be set up for life,’ said Jeanette.
‘Easily,’ agreed Vivienne. ‘What do you think, Felicity?’
Fliss jumped at being directly addressed for the first time. ‘Me?’
‘You could have your own flat in London,’ pressed Vivienne. ‘You’d be doing something so worthwhile. Using your language skills.’
Fliss hesitated. ‘I don’t really enjoy languages much.’
‘But if you’re so good at them, it seems a terrible waste not to use them,’ said Vivienne. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘It does sound a bit exciting,’ admitted Fliss, though a small part of her was shouting, No, no! I want to go on the stage!
‘I think it sounds marvellous,’ said Jeanette. ‘Next time I’m at Parents’ Evening, I’ll have a word with that careers adviser.’
Fliss felt as though the whole conversation was gathering speed, accelerating down a track she didn’t want to take. She gulped. ‘I – I do have another idea,’ she said. ‘About my career, that is.’
Vivienne and Jeanette looked up expectantly. ‘Yes?’
Fliss crossed her fingers. ‘I’d like to be an actor.’
There was a moment’s pause. ‘A what?’ said Vivienne. Jeanette sighed.
‘An actor,’ said Fliss.
‘Actress,’ said Vivienne firmly. ‘Female actors are actresses.’
Fliss shook her head. ‘Not any more. Everyone’s called an actor now. Like firefighters and police officers.’
‘Which are at least proper jobs,’ said Vivienne. ‘Whereas acting is not.’ She turned to Jeanette. ‘Is she serious?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Jeanette. ‘I hope not.’
Vivienne turned back to Fliss and spoke quietly and carefully, as if to a small child or a deaf granny. ‘There’s no money in acting. There’s no security. What makes you think you could make it when thousands don’t?’
‘I could try,’ said Fliss.
Vivienne took a slurp of wine. ‘Not good enough. It’s all about who’s sleeping with whom—’
‘Vivienne!’
‘She’s got to hear the truth, Jeanette. It’s not what you know, Felicity, it’s who you know. It’s all about getting the lucky break.’
Vivienne’s assertiveness was like being smothered by a large blanket. Is this what it’s like for Sofie? ‘My director thinks I’m talented,’ whispered Fliss.
Vivienne gave her a pitying look. ‘Of course she does, sweetheart. She’s a college teacher, isn’t she? I can’t imagine she has much experience of the theatre world herself. She’s probably delighted to have someone who remembers their lines and doesn’t bump into the furniture.’
‘It’s called a set,’ mumbled Fliss rebelliously. ‘And she used to work for the BBC.’
Vivienne’s face fell slightly at the prestigious name. ‘Well, things are different in TV. And anyway, Felicity, I’m sure you’ll change your mind by the time you leave school. When I was your age I wanted to be all sorts of things!’ She gave a tinkling laugh and poured herself another glass of wine. ‘I even remember wanting to be an acrobat!’
‘Why didn’t you?’ asked Fliss.
‘My dear, nobody really does that,’ said Vivienne. ‘It was just one of those childish fantasies.’ She leaned forward and patted Fliss on the shoulder. Fliss winced. ‘I think it’s lovely that you like drama so muc
h. It’ll help bring you out of yourself. But it’s not really a career. You can do it as a hobby.’
‘That’s what I said,’ said Jeanette, relieved that her superior friend was backing her up. ‘Get a proper job, one with security and stability, and join an amateur company on the side.’
‘Exactly,’ said Vivienne, nodding. ‘A much more sensible way of doing things. Your mother has the right idea, Felicity. You should listen to her.’ She smiled at Fliss. ‘Mothers always know best.’
Chapter 9
were you holding back for some reason?
FLISS HAD BEEN surprised to receive a message from Candy, asking her to come to an extra rehearsal. But in many ways she was relieved. Since the evening with Vivienne, Jeanette had referred to Fliss’s acting aspirations more than once, and not in a positive way. Fliss was becoming tired of hearing her mother’s opinion on ‘showbiz’ as she called it. Every time there was a magazine photo of a Z-list celebrity falling drunkenly out of a taxi, Jeanette would say with arched eyebrows, ‘That’s what you get for mixing with showbiz people.’ Every time there was a reality TV programme on, Jeanette would comment that ‘people only want to be famous these days, talent counts for nothing’. And whenever there was a soap on, Jeanette would say with a horrified fascination that she couldn’t see why anyone would want to act in one of ‘those things’ anyway – ‘they’re all full of such dreadful people’. She had even declared that she would no longer watch The X Factor ‘because I feel sorry for them, really. We shouldn’t laugh at them.’
Fliss knew this sudden onslaught was only down to Vivienne’s recent visit, but it was beginning to get her down. Was it such a bad thing to want to do? After a while, she felt fuzzy in the head with all the conflicting opinions. Her heart told her that she belonged on the stage. But her head wasn’t in the clouds. She knew there wasn’t much money in acting as a career – not unless you were successful on TV or in films, or you worked in the West End on a long-running show. But surely there were ways to scrape by? She didn’t mind not having lots of money. That wasn’t what life was about, was it? But Jeanette didn’t seem to agree. And, watching her mother anxiously pore over the supermarket receipt to see where she’d spent an extra £2.61, Fliss wondered whether maybe she was being the ridiculous one. Her mother had a point. Life was easier if you had money. But still . . .
