Waiting for Callback

by Perdita Cargill

  ‘I couldn’t do that.’ Daisy obviously agreed with me. ‘And I definitely couldn’t let them spend any more money when I felt the way I did – it was awful; there was all this talk about cashing in pension schemes and remortgaging to “support my dreams”.’ (She did that air quotes gesture with her fingers, but I forgave her because I liked her.) ‘So in the end I just told them no.’

  ‘What did they say?’ I said through a mouthful of lemon drizzle cake.

  ‘They were weirdly OK. I mean, initially they were just a bit shell-shocked and kept going on about not understanding me and doing that unshed tears thing, but then the next day they were just like whatever and started to talk about going to Spain on holiday. I think maybe they were relieved.’

  ‘Do you reckon they knew already?’

  She hesitated. ‘No, not really. I don’t think they wanted to know or rather I don’t think they knew that they wanted to know before they did know so they just didn’t know.’

  Okaaay, that was hard to follow, but I think I got what she meant.

  ‘I mean, they knew I was stressy a lot of the time, but it’s not like there weren’t tons of other possible reasons for that.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Come on, Elektra, like normal stuff: panicking about GCSEs and not wanting to get fat and worrying that you’ll never get boobs – or that you will get boobs, but that they’ll be too big and end up under your armpits – and wanting to get off with guys who don’t want to get off with you and not wanting to get with the guys who do want to get with you and not being invited to parties.’

  Oh, yes, right, that stuff. Fair enough.

  ‘Are they going to make you do something else?’

  ‘Nope.’ The whole time Daisy was talking she kept running her fingers through her new pixie hair, making it stand up in sharp little spikes like stiff meringue mixture. It was as if she were making friends with it. ‘Well, probably they will at some point; chances are my mum will dream up some whole new escape route for me when I don’t actually want to escape. Maybe it’s her that does.’ She paused as if that were the first time that rather obvious thought had occurred to her. ‘Whatever.’ She shrugged. ‘Not much I can do about that.’

  She was probably right. ‘What did Stella say?’ I asked.

  ‘She was really, really cool. She said she’d known for a bit that I wasn’t that happy with it and that she’d been meaning to talk to me. She just said that she didn’t want me to do it unless I was sure I wanted to. She meant it too, I could tell. Did you know she used to act?’

  ‘No. What like in the sixties?’

  ‘Harsh. She used to be a stage actress and she was in tons of plays, just small parts, but with really famous people and then she gave it up practically overnight because she got stage fright, real can’t-go-on-any-more stage fright.’

  I shuddered at the thought of getting that scared of doing something you’d loved. ‘Are you still going to come to ACT?’ I asked Daisy.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I spoke to Lens and he’s OK with me dropping out halfway through a term. I’ll miss the people – I’ll miss lusting after Lens.’ She didn’t mention lusting after Archie. That was good, right? ‘Well, I’ll miss some of the people, not Christian or Brian obviously, but I think it’s better if I just have a clean break. I don’t really want to hear about what everyone else is doing each week. I’m happy with my decision, but I just want to be done with it. Anyway, I’ve probably done enough improv games to last me a lifetime.’

  ‘No more Superhero or Mirror Mirror? How are you going to live?’

  ‘I know, right,’ she laughed. ‘It’ll be tough. I’m going to do some school drama, audition for the school play and stuff like that. That’s enough for me. We’ll still stay in touch though. I got Facebook.’

  ‘Facebook? Seriously? I thought you disapproved of it. I thought you were too indie for it.’

  ‘Ha, no, I’m not that pretentious. My mum was just scared that I would post some bikini photo or someone would post some dodgy comment and it would end up all over the papers.’ She saw my face. ‘I know, I know, it was mad, but this was in her phase of believing that only my possible bad rep could get in the way of me being the next Emma Watson.’

  I struggled with the idea of Daisy having any sort of bad rep; she had ‘good girl’ stamped all the way through her like holiday rock. I thought about some of the things on my page (not posted by me) and cringed a bit. There are advantages to a life as one of the plankton.

  ‘Now my mum doesn’t care. It’s like I have parental permission to be normal.’

  ‘What, like normal have guy friends and things?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Got anyone in your sights?’

  She nodded and drew a little heart in the sugar crumbs on the tabletop. I think, well, I hope that it was an unconscious gesture.

  ‘Anyone I know?’ I asked, praying that it wasn’t Archie. I would have to be cool about it and I really didn’t think I was that good an actress.

  ‘No. Someone in the year above at school. Nothing to do with acting.’

  ‘A civilian?’ I used the term in a properly ironic way.

  ‘A clever, hot, year above civilian.’ Whoop, status. She laughed a big, unapologetic, un-old-Daisy laugh. She was really happy. ‘I’m still in lower-set maths though.’

  ‘Maybe “Hot Year Above Guy” can tutor you?’

  ‘Maybe he can or maybe we’ll find more fun things to do.’ She smirked.

  Well, this was a bit disconcerting. It was as if aliens had abducted Daisy, shaved her head, brainwashed her and returned her to earth. (Quite like the plot of a student film actually; maybe I should mention it to Ed.)

  ‘What’s going on with you?’ she asked me.

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘Really? You look a bit . . . well, you just look like something’s wrong. Are you still upset about Open Outcry?’

  ‘No. I’m a bit bruised mostly because it was so embarrassing, but I’m really OK about it now.’

  ‘Is it other acting stuff? Were you really hoping to hear on Fortuneswell?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Of course I was; it was a brilliant series with good costumes. What was weird to me was that Daisy had been serious: she really didn’t care. ‘But no, it’s not the acting.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I just had a stupid fight with Moss this week and it’s still not OK. We basically haven’t spoken for days.’

  ‘What happened?’

  I told Daisy because she was easy to talk to. She’d only met Moss once when Moss had come to meet me after ACT, but she got it. I wasn’t the first person to fall out with her best friend. It wasn’t exactly top gossip, but maybe the pettiest argument since Year Six.

  ‘Does it really matter whose fault it is? Maybe just say sorry anyway.’ This was such Daisy-ish advice. ‘Call her now.’

  ‘I can’t, I’ve lost my phone.’ Well, it probably wasn’t lost, but it was definitely misplaced again.

  ‘Borrow mine,’ she said, handing it over.

  Thank God Moss never lost her phone; I knew her number off by heart. ‘Hi, this is Mossy and I’m not . . .’ Torr’s muffled voice, then laughing, ‘. . . here right . . .’ laughter. I really, really hated that voicemail message.

  ‘Try texting her,’ said Daisy.

  Hey, Moss, are you around?

  Who is this? So she actually still had a phone.

  Sorry, it’s me, Elektra. I’m on Daisy’s phone.

  Have you lost yours again?

  Not exactly. Well, maybe. Do you want to meet up?

  Sorry, I can’t. No crying face emoticons, nothing.

  Actually can’t or won’t can’t?

  Actually can’t. My mum’s making me redo my English essay under her personal supervision. That was plausible.

  Nightmare. I just wanted to say sorry.

  Five minutes of looking at Daisy’s phone, then, Don’t worry bout it. No kisses.

  Seriously?


  No answer.

  ‘I’ll get emergency cake,’ said Daisy.

  WAITING

  • Half-term: no good parties (no bad ones either).

  • Three days’ staying with Granny Gwen (too traumatic to talk about).

  • One day shopping with Eulalie (too spoiling to talk about).

  • Number of auditions: 2 (went so badly that I refuse to talk about them).

  • Number of conversations with Moss: 0.

  From: Charlotte at the Haden Agency

  Date: 1 June 21:51

  To: Julia James

  Cc: Stella at the Haden Agency

  Subject: Elektra updates

  Dear Julia,

  I’m afraid that Mid Hyphen Night Productions have decided to go in a different direction on the Nobody Cares project (Alice role).

  Thank you for the telephone messages asking for an update on the other projects. As ever, we will be in touch the minute we have any news (good or bad!).

  Kind regards,

  Charlotte

  P.S. Can’t quite believe it’s June already! Don’t forget to let us have up-to-date holiday dates!

  From: Jonathan Tibble, Deputy Head at Berkeley Academy

  Date: 1 June 21:52

  To: Year 10

  Subject: Summer exams

  Dear Girls,

  You will be delighted to know that the exam timetable is now up on the school portal. I am confident that your revision preparation is already underway (if it is not, now is the time to panic).

  Further to the disappointing incident that occurred during the chemistry test last year, snacks are henceforth strictly banned from the examinations.

  Mr Tibble

  Berkeley Academy: Believing and Achieving since 1964

  ‘I don’t really have disappointments because I build myself up for rejection.’

  Nicholas Hoult

  ‘Moss?’ I practically had to stand on her toes to get her attention. ‘Don’t want to sound paranoid here, but is there some reason you moved seats in history?’ And haven’t spoken to me for the whole of this miserable Monday? I didn’t say that bit because there was a limit to how pathetic I was prepared to sound. I knew there was a reason and I knew it was the stupid argument about the texts – or maybe the argument about the stupid texts. I kept hoping it would magically sort itself out. Pretty clear that wasn’t happening.

  She shrugged.

  OK, she could sit where she wanted. That wasn’t fatal. Or was that fatal? I tried again. ‘Did you have a good half-term?’

  She shrugged again.

  This was brutal. ‘Are you literally not going to speak to me?’

  ‘There’s not much going on. Or did you have acting news you wanted to share?’

  ‘No. No news that would interest you.’ Like we’d needed ‘news’ to talk about. Also there was no acting news except for a little tsunami of rejections.

  ‘I suppose you’ve got Daisy if you want to talk about that.’

  ‘Yep,’ I said, a little bit because it was true, but mostly because I wanted to hurt her back. ‘And I suppose one of Torr’s many attractions is that he’s a really good listener.’

  ‘I think he’s a bit surprised by how mean girls are, but yeah.’

  ‘Well, he’s hanging out with you at the moment, so he’ll get used to it.’

  Moss didn’t answer that which was fair enough. She just elbowed her way past someone who was half cello, half girl and started to walk away.

  This was horrible.

  ‘Why are we fighting like this, Moss? It was just a stupid text.’ I was practically shouting after her. It was pretty needy. Half Cello/Half Girl stopped to listen in. There was always someone listening in.

  ‘We’re not just fighting about the texts, Elektra.’ Moss turned and stressed the plural. ‘We’re fighting because you can’t cope with me having a boyfriend and I can’t be bothered with you guilt-tripping me out about it.’

  That was sort of true, but not the whole picture. ‘Or maybe it’s because you can’t be bothered with your friends now you have a boyfriend and you’re too self-absorbed to care.’

  ‘That’s not true, Elektra.’ Maia had materialized out of nowhere and was standing ‘supportively’ next to Moss. ‘You’re so dramatic about everything.’

  It wasn’t a compliment.

  ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ And Maia was. Probably mostly because it was good gossip and Maia lived for gossip – which I suppose is why she’d kicked it all off in the first place. Also because she could have long, whispering, sympathetic conversations with Moss and that was her idea of good drama.

  ‘And apparently you’re the one obsessed with getting a boyfriend. How’s it going with Archie?’

  I’d got to the point where I couldn’t even remember why I’d ever liked Maia. Moss looked a bit awkward, but she didn’t defend me, just played with her fringe, which she always did when she felt uncomfortable. (She’d obviously just had it cut way too short, but it wouldn’t be funny if I pointed that out right now.)

  ‘Are you getting the bus?’ I asked Moss and I knew I sounded needy again.

  ‘Or we could go get a coffee,’ said Maia, very obviously just to Moss, and Moss nodded. I watched them walk off and Half Cello/Half Girl watched me watch them. Great.

  I could have got the bus with Jenny. Jenny was still being nice to me. Well, she was making a massive effort not to take sides, but I was scared that she’d go Team Moss (and more scared that there was a Team Moss in the first place). But then Jenny hated conflict; she was going to have to toughen up if she was to survive Year Eleven. It probably wasn’t fair of me to get the bus with Jenny: she wasn’t some sort of human shield.

  The walk would do me good.

  There’s a sentence I never thought I’d think.

  For once, it was Dad who was at home when I got in and not Mum (she was out trying to find herself somewhere). He was in the kitchen, building little white models of kitchens.

  ‘Do you want to help, Elektra?’

  Any other day, I would totally have wanted to help him, i.e. play (I still secretly missed playing with Sylvanians and this was pretty close). But I wasn’t feeling constructive. ‘I can’t. I’ve got too much homework.’ That was a lie. I just wanted to be on my own. I checked my phone. No messages from Moss. No messages from Archie. The only person who’d communicated with me was Mrs Gryll and that was just to say that I was late with my essay on erosional landforms. I buried myself in the fridge. There was nothing appealing.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  How could he tell from my back that I wasn’t? Was I giving off some sort of sweaty misery vibe? I leaned deeper into the fridge to cool my hot face. If I could have crawled inside and curled up next to the leftover rice pudding, I probably would have.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Fine, leave me alone? That sort of fine?’

  ‘Yep. That sort of fine.’

  ‘And if you stop wanting to be left alone you’ll tell me?’

  ‘I will.’ I would have given him a hug just for not saying anything more, but if I’d done that I’d probably have started to cry and for someone who never cried I was doing it a lot lately. As long as no one was nice to me, I’d be fine. I loaded a plate with a large chunk of dried-out cheddar, two slightly squishy tomatoes and some leftover pesto pasta because I wasn’t too upset to eat (or maybe I was eating because I was too upset: it didn’t look very enticing). Even Digby didn’t follow me when I took my snack upstairs.

  It would have been a good night to have had homework. Even two hours doing an essay on how the Treaty of Versailles weakened Germany would have been better than sitting under the duvet, making a list of parts that I’d been up for and hadn’t got, but that’s what I did.

  If I was going to feel sorry for myself, I might as well wallow in it.

  1. Part of ‘Young Girl’ in a ‘challenging, contemporary’ fairy tale. Opening scene – the young girl is skipping through
a forest surreally comprised of knives and forks. I got a callback for that one even though it was obviously a part for a six-year-old or maybe an older girl with an eating disorder. It didn’t come to anything; it ran into funding problems. Can’t imagine why.

  2. Part of ‘Young Girl’ in an episode of Casualty. (Daughter standing beside mother at sink, drying dishes and cheerfully chatting as if without a care in the world as the knife her mum is holding slips . . .). OK, this was maybe the tiniest role in the whole entire history of tiny roles, but I really wanted it, not just because it was the BBC and therefore classy, but because Casualty is a rite of passage for actors. EVERYBODY has been in Casualty; I suppose it’s down to the high death rate. If it was good enough for Kate Winslet and Orlando Bloom, it was good enough for me. More than good enough I suppose because I didn’t get it and the part went to some random ten-year-old who lives in Cardiff and will probably turn out to be the next Kate Winslet. Hate her already.

  3. The ‘Holly’ part in the ‘harrowing, coming-of-age drama’, Twisted. Of course I don’t know how far I would have got with that one if my parents hadn’t freaked out at the ‘challenging’ subject matter and banned me from auditioning.

  4. Part of ‘Alice’ (playing age sixteen, Caucasian, accent RP) in intense and occasionally foul-mouthed multicultural friendship drama. I don’t know why I didn’t get that one. Frankly, I was perfect.

  5. Part of ‘Dead Child’ in:

  student’s short film about an vampire invasion; student’s short film about a worldwide viral contagion.

  If I were a grown-up actor, I would probably say that I was ‘resting’, but being a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl with parents like mine and a school like mine that would have been a seriously inaccurate statement.

  Maybe they just weren’t that into me.

  It was time to have another mammoth session of googling ‘actors who got rejected a lot before making it’. That was a surprisingly upbeat thread.

  Anyway, there were worse things than acting rejection. Things like your best friend moving her seat in class so that she isn’t sitting next to you any more. Yep, I think that’s real rejection.