Haneen is a very positive person, she can’t help looking for the silver lining. But I know better that Raff and I will probably never meet again. We might both be actors, but he’s in one of the most successful series. He’ll go from that to something else even bigger. If our paths even crossed professionally, it would when he’s the star in a movie where I play a blonde girl in the crowd. We wouldn’t even be filming on the same day.
A niggling question at the back of my mind, a question I really don’t want to answer, or even ask. But it now raises its voice, it’s ugly nagging voice.
Why didn’t he offer to get me a job on his show?
Of course, he’s only an actor and not a casting director; it’s not his place to give jobs to people, I know that. But…Couldn’t he have tried to put in a word for me?Clanhas a cast of hundreds, surely they might have found something for me?
In this business it’s who you know. So why not? Surely he can see that all I need is a little push, a role that allows me to show my acting talent.
And that’s when the other nagging doubt, the really ugly one, the one, shoves everything out of its way and moves centre stage.
Maybe he tried, and they said no and he didn’t want to tell me. Maybe they looked me up and decided I wasn’t good enough. Maybe my agent sent them my info years ago when they started casting the show and considered every actor in the country. Did they watch my show-reel and weren’t impressed?
Is it possible that the reason I never get the good parts is because I’m just not good enough?
My insides flinch as if from an electrified wire. Everything in me recoils from that thought.
“What are you baking?” The voice of the professor wakes me from my miserable thoughts. He and Alex have come into the kitchen.
“Just an experiment.” With utter relief, I turn my mind to happier thoughts. “It’ll be ready in ten minutes.” Shortbread biscuits are easy, they don’t torment me with horrible self-doubt.
Alex ruffles Henrietta’s curly hair. He watches her colouring, then bends closer and offers her another pen. “Try doing blue next to yellow.”
The little girl looks up at him, happy, then takes the pencil he offers her without speaking. Haneen told me before that her daughter is a selective mute; it takes time for her to trust people, especially men. I wonder if this has something to do with the trouble she alluded to before. But the way the little girl grins at Alex makes it clear she trusts him and feels comfortable even with the professor sitting at the table to drink the tea I just put before him.
This house is a family, they trust and support one another. And in times of trouble, they all pull in together, like a family should.
“Does this mean you need us to be guinea pigs again?” Alex sniffs the air. The smell of lemony shortbread fills the kitchen. “I don’t mind hard labour if it comes with a hot cup of tea and your baking.”
And I don’t mind making a hundred cups of tea and baking all day if it puts such smiles on everyone’s faces. This kitchen has been my happy place for the last few weeks. I’ve learnt new recipes and imagined how to make wonderful afternoon parties, I’ve even enjoyed making breakfast porridge for everyone.
Suddenly, Raff’s words come back to me.Are you happy?
Answer: I don’t know. I love the craft, the drama, the plays. Being able to bring a story to life on stage. I love that.
On the other hand, I’ve hated the nothing roles offered to me, I’ve hated the way directors treated me. I’ve hated the friendships that end with the play, the temporary families that forget me as soon as they move to another theatre.
No director or actor who worked with me then and went on to better things ever offered to take me with them. I’ve feared what that might mean. Because it might mean they didn’t think me any good. And I’d have hated knowing that.
Now, it all comes at once, like at the end of a great play when someone in the audience stands up and applauds,Bravo!And others do the same until everyone is on their feet shouting and clapping.
In the kitchen in Kendric House, the truth, all the truths stand up and shout.
It seems so obvious now. I haven’t been happy for ages.
“I wish I could bake and make sandwiches every day,” I say turning around to check the oven.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Monday 19th December. Morning.
I don’t know if Haneen spoke to Evan about me, but early the next morning, he comes to find me on the kitchen.
“What are you doing now” he asks helping himself to coffee from the pot I made. Evan usually like a coffee in the morning. And if it’s made, then Llewellyn has some too.
I look up from my phone. “Just watching a video clip.” Actually, it’s several videos about sage and onion stuffing, but let’s not let on what an amateur is cooking the Christmas dinner. The plan which seemed optimistic when Raff was here to help me – and yes, give me confidence – now feels foolhardy.
“About Christmas…” Evan begins. “How many people are you inviting?”
