by Julia Gray
Flip forward a final time, to the here-and-now.
When we came to the top of the hill above Petra’s house, Bel ran ahead of me in a skip-hop gait, chasing after Oscar, of whom she has grown fond. It has been odd to see her in civilian clothes – non-costume-clothes, I mean. No silvery kimonos now. No papery dresses. This morning she was wearing grey tracksuit trousers, a white T-shirt. Old-Norian camouflage wear. Sometimes, indeed, we do swap clothes, since we keep forgetting to use the laundry room. It has also been odd not to talk of anything to do with schoolwork, even though her A-level results are just around the corner, and promise to be – even with the blemish of the missed exam – very good. But she didn’t come here to talk. Like I did, she came here to heal. (‘I wanna see trees,’ she’d said, on the phone. ‘Can’t I come and join your retreat? Daddy says I can.’) Even after everything we had done to each other – or was it because of it? – Bel and I found that we wanted to be together.
We don’t talk about Jacaranda any more, either. Principal photography is unlikely to begin this autumn, after all. A major backer dropped out, which stalled production, and they lost their window for Dennis Havelock, who would have played the lead role of Matthew. Now, it’s probable that they’ll shoot in the spring.
One afternoon before I left for Scotland, while Bel was playing with the cat in the garden, as much like Alice in Wonderland as ever, Anton said to me: ‘The part’s still yours, if you want it.’
I massaged the underside of my arm, where the cut still hurt.
‘It’s kind of you,’ I began.
‘Kindness has nothing to do with it. As you know, Annabel won’t be in any position to act in anything for a long while, in any case. I’ve spoken to Gabriel. You’re a promising young actress, Nora.’
I thanked him. But I wouldn’t be able to do it.
‘I have A-levels next year. My mum agrees.’
‘As you wish.’
He was silent for a while. Then he said: ‘It’s funny. Annabel always wanted to look like her mother – and, in so many ways, she does. She sounds like Phyllis; she has so many of her little tricks and mannerisms. Even with those terrible burns, she still reminds me of Phyllis. But I think Bel’s beginning to realise that there is so much more to performance than bearing a resemblance to someone else. If she really wants acting to be a part of her future, I hope that she’ll be able to embrace who she really is, and not just the person she wants to remember.’ He sighed. I wondered if he realised that he, also, had to let Phyllis go, and if he knew what he’d need to do in order to make it happen. ‘It wasn’t a barbecue, Nora, was it?’
‘I’m sorry?’ I said.
‘It wasn’t a barbecue.’
‘It was,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t there, but … it was an end-of-year house party. These things happen easily …’
Bel was rolling on the grass, holding the cat above her and singing. Anton watched her. I tried to imagine what he was thinking.
‘I was worried, you know, that she’d found out that Gabe and I had you in mind for Clementine. And that was why … But, of course, she didn’t know that,’ he said, more to himself than to me. His phone began to ring. ‘Jacaranda was never the right project for Annabel,’ he said as he left to take the call. ‘I was wrong to encourage it.’
I believe that Anton and Gabriel have now cast Hannah Corbett, who – coincidentally – played Nora in A Doll’s House at the National Theatre. I think she will be exceptional as Clementine. She’s just right for the part. I will be right for other parts, some other time. And so will Bel. Right now, we’re planning to write something together. Another fairy-tale play, probably. We like Snow White and Rose Red. Sleeping Beauty too. Bel is going to take a year out before she goes to drama school. They’ve deferred her place. I’ve been thinking about applying myself. Perhaps to the same institution; perhaps not.
This is the last frame. Pause. Freeze. Bel – half-head of hair dancing in the clear-day wind – is midway down the hill, with Oscar at her heels. She looks like the greatest friend I ever had. Maybe she is. Maybe I am the greatest friend she ever had too. The burn mark on the right side of her face matches my birthmark on the left side of mine.
Unfreeze the frame. She looks up at me, shrieking something I can’t hear. She turns and runs back towards the woods. The Gareloch is a dark twinkle in the distance. Bel waves, summoning me.
I follow.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank my agent, Louise Lamont, for believing wholeheartedly in Nora and Bel from the beginning; for offering insightful comments at every stage of the process; and for encouraging me to write the best book I could. I would also like to thank my editor, Chloe Sackur, who held my hand through many a redraft with patience, warmth and grace. Little Liar is a better book for the involvement of you both.
To the team at Andersen Press: thank you all very much for your faith in Little Liar. Special thanks to Kate Grove, whose inspired cover design captures all the playful mischief I could have dreamed of; thanks also to Harriet Dunlea, Paul Black, Sarah Kimmelman, Charlie Sheppard and, of course, Klaus Flugge – you’re a lovely group of people to work with.
No book is created in a vacuum, but Little Liar did begin in a place of total isolation: a residency at Cove Park on the beautiful Rosneath peninsula in July 2015. While six months pregnant, I spent three weeks living in a small white ‘cube’, with no internet and no phone, and nothing to do but read, write and wait for the grocery delivery van. The first draft of Little Liar was written there. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Polly Clark and everyone at Cove Park for looking after me so well, and to the Sophie Warne Fellowship and Birkbeck for enabling me to go.
Thanks to Harriet Amos and Libby Farthing, who talked to me about school matters; Susan Luciani and Ruth Ivo, who talked to me about boats; Sara Crystal, who advised on hair dye; Mélanie Bugnet, who checked my French; and Calum Gray, whose knowledge of the movie business could fill a hundred books, and who spent hours talking me through the finer details of film finance. Thanks also to Sue Cook for the eagle-eyed copyedit. Any errors in any capacity are mine.
Imogen Russell Williams: once again, thank you for sharing your invaluable support and bookish knowledge so generously; long may our lunches continue, ideally with Bobby ‘What are you being so tiny for?’ Star in tow. Kellie Nelmes: thank you for everything.
I want to thank my family, especially my parents, Stanley and Jennifer Johnson, who have always made me believe that I could be a writer (and who bear no resemblance to any of the parents in this book); my brother Max, and my grandmother Lois Sieff. Little Liar is in part a love song to the theatre, and you are responsible for that great love, Grandma.
Lastly, to my son, Jonathan, and my husband, Calum: I love you both.
