Waiting for Callback

by Perdita Cargill

  ‘Don’t. I’m sorry too.’

  ‘I’ve missed you so, so much,’ I said and she was saying it back at the same time and we couldn’t talk because it was a party and really, really loud so we just did the whole girly, huggy love thing until Archie and Torr judged it safe to come back.

  Then we did more hugging but less girly.

  It was kind of predictable that I got home late. Not that late but late enough. It was predictable that Mum waited up. It was also predictable that she’d been having a nervous breakdown.

  ‘Why do you never pick up your phone?’ she said (as she so often did).

  ‘I didn’t hear it ring,’ I protested (as I quite often did).

  ‘If you can’t behave responsibly when you’re out, then you can’t go out,’ she said (she didn’t say that very often because I didn’t really go out very often).

  ‘You’ve no idea how responsibly I behaved.’ And comparatively speaking that was true.

  She paced and tutted for a bit, but couldn’t help herself. ‘Are you hungry? Do you want pasta?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ I was starving.

  ‘Fine. I’ll make you pasta and you sit down and tell me everything.’

  Oh. OK, this pasta had strings attached.

  ‘Moss was there,’ I said.

  She looked worried. ‘Oh, dear, did you have another argument?’

  ‘No, it was really nice to talk to her. It was all good.’

  ‘I’m pleased,’ said Mum simply and for once had the sense not to ask me any questions about something that mattered. It didn’t mean she wasn’t going to ask any questions. ‘So, did you have fun?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I went as non-committal as possible; I didn’t want her to think I hadn’t had fun, but I definitely didn’t want her to know how much fun I’d had.

  ‘So you didn’t have fun.’

  ‘No, no, I did.’ I just really didn’t want to tell her about it.

  ‘Was it awful? You hated it? They were mean to you?’ Every teenage parenting book she’d ever read had been preparing her for this moment. ‘Darling, if anything happened, anyone peer-pressured you, you did anything you regret, you can tell me.’

  ‘NOTHING HAPPENED! I LOVED THE PARTY!’

  ‘Why do you sound angry then? Something’s obviously upset you. Just tell me – stop being so defensive.’

  I spoke very slowly, like you’d speak to a small, rather stupid child who was threatening to throw themselves under a train. ‘No, I had a very, very nice time. The party was amazing. I didn’t drink anything. I did no drugs. I did not engage in sexual contact.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ She almost looked disappointed. ‘Who did then?’

  She was a lost cause. I ended up telling her about Flissy’s ‘moment’ in the bushes because my judgement was a bit impaired, it was seriously funny, I owed no loyalty to Flissy and Mum deserved payment for the pasta.

  She took this as proof that the party was a rampant orgy, then she let me go to bed, her fears about not having anything to worry about allayed.

  ‘I’m just going to do some mad stuff. It’s about living and being my age. That’s what success is.’

  Suki Waterhouse

  My phone was ringing, but by the time I found it – under the bed, under a tangle of tights – whoever was phoning had given up. A minute later, there was a single woof and a text glowed on the screen.

  Are you awake?

  I am now. I love Moss, but she has an abnormal body clock and is stupidly conversational in the mornings.

  I had a seriously weird dream last night

  Unlikely to have been as weird as mine. I’d dreamt I was at the callback, stark – completely no knickers – naked. Also I couldn’t find my script. That was the bad bit. Was I in it?

  Yes. Good. I would have been offended if I hadn’t been.

  Was it good?

  Er, not exactly

  Then don’t tell me

  It wasn’t pervy. But Archie was in it

  Did it end well?

  Not really

  THEN DON’T TELL ME. I really didn’t need any more dream-related stress.

  I’ll save it. Happy bout Archie?

  Yes. Come over later and we can have a deep convo.

  Yaaaaay. Will you give me ALL the goss?

  I’ll give you the highlights

  Can’t come till evening — is that OK for you?

  I was pretty sure that meant she was seeing Torr.

  Perfect. I’ve got to revise. And it’s just possible that Archie might drop by . . .

  You’re not going to go all . . . unavailable on me, are you?

  LOL. I was taking a risk there.

  Hahaha

  Mum yelled up the stairs. Apparently, if I wasn’t down for breakfast within five minutes, I wouldn’t be getting any. Also, apparently, I didn’t really deserve breakfast on account of being late home.

  ‘You look tired.’

  I didn’t say, ‘You always look tired,’ because that would have been harsh. Also I didn’t say, ‘You shouldn’t have waited up,’ because that would have just started her off again.

  ‘I suppose you’re hungry.’

  ‘Starving.’

  ‘I thought you might be. Bacon sandwiches?’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. Love you.’ It was the best smell in the world again; Digby was beside himself. ‘Did Stella call?’ I asked through a mouthful. I’d propped my mobile up against the milk jug so I could keep an eye on it at all times.

  Mum shook her head, ‘No. Anyway, under our new regime she’ll call you first.’

  I’d forgotten. ‘Do you think we’ll hear on Monday?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think you should try to put it out of your head. You’ve got school; how about just concentrating on finishing your homework?’ I could see her fighting the temptation to add ‘for once’ to the end of that sentence.

  How could I be expected to concentrate on E=VxQ with everything that was going on?

  ‘And you’ve got exams. They’re not going to revise themselves, you know. Parties or no parties. Boy or no boy. Film or no film.’

  She said the strangest things. I escaped into the garden where I could sit under a tree and no one would talk to me. If the price for solitude was a stab at revision, it was a price I was prepared to pay.

  Also I really didn’t want to fail my exams.

  At least it was revision for English and not physics. Newton might have managed insights under a tree, but it wouldn’t work for me. Our set drama text was Waiting for Godot: an odd play, the point of which is that there isn’t a point. Most of the time there’s just two old guys with only a tree for company, waiting – just waiting – for Godot; and who or what he is nobody knows. You couldn’t call it gripping, but I secretly liked it. How could you not like a play with lines like: ‘Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it’s awful!’? Actually, they should have made it with teenagers – just substituted the tree for a phone and that’s about 90 per cent of my life. They could have called it Waiting for Something to Happen/Anything to Happen.

  I couldn’t concentrate. It wasn’t just the heat – although there was a trickle of sweat running down my arm and threatening to drown a tiny ant running the other way – it was the waiting for the phone to ring. This was drama waiting. Waiting so active that I would have lost weight doing it if it wasn’t for all the comfort eating. Drama waiting was worse than waiting for a guy to call. Really.

  ‘Hey, Elektra.’ Archie was coming across the garden, carrying two enormous ice creams. ‘Sorry. I’m a bit early.’

  Like I minded. He’d shown.

  ‘Your mum let me in.’

  ‘Oh, God, did she interrogate you on your parents/hobbies/predicted exam results/preferred university/career choice?’

  ‘Nah, she was cool.’

  She was? That was a first.

  He handed me one of the ice creams. ‘It’s melted a bit.’

  ‘’S OK, it’s good,’ I said, licking the melt
ed ice cream off the cone, feeling seriously self-conscious because he was looking so hard at me. ‘Come sit down.’ I patted the grass next to me and we sat side by side under the tree and ate the ice creams, acutely, almost painfully, aware of each other. Last night we’d had the music and the beer and the whole heat of the party and it had been easy. This was daytime and I wasn’t wearing a tiny skirt and mascara; I had on an old pair of denim shorts and a Snoopy T-shirt that used to be a nightshirt before my latest growth spurt. Archie hadn’t given me time to change . . . or brush my teeth for the third time. He crunched the end of his cone and slung his arm round my shoulders. That was way better. I leaned into him and it was sort of familiar. Clean T-shirt and some lemony soap or shampoo this time. Oh, yes, this I could do.

  ‘You’re not going to finish that, are you?’ He eyed up the end of my cone greedily and I handed it over. It was good to share. He finished it in two bites, which meant that both of us had free hands.

  ‘Elektra!’ It was my mum.

  I thought the look of shock on her face was because she’d seen us kissing, but then I saw that she had the house phone in her hand and was looking at it as if it were radioactive. I don’t think she’d even noticed what we were doing.

  ‘Elektra. It’s Mr Havelski . . . for you.’ She was all weirded out.

  I looked at her, and I looked back up at Archie who was, frankly, looking very good indeed.

  ‘We keep getting interrupted,’ he whispered in my ear. His breath tickled.

  I smiled at him. ‘Thanks, Mum. Tell Mr Havelski I’ll call him back.’

  THE END

  (Because that’s how cool and collected I was; an actor one hundred per cent in control. Seriously? Seriously? Well . . . no. Let’s try that again. PTO for Take Two)

  Strangely enough, I wasn’t cocky enough to leave Mr Havelski waiting for me to call him back. That is a game I wouldn’t play with a sixth former, far less a Hollywood director.

  And Archie was in the business. He was the one that put the phone in my hand.

  ‘Hello?’ I squeaked in a teeny-tiny voice.

  ‘So . . . ’ (Havelski still sounded like a meerkat – a really important meerkat.) There was a terrifying pause. ‘So . . . ’ Another scary pause.

  I was going to pass out. I clung on to Archie (mostly for support).

  ‘So . . . Is that my Straker I’m speaking to?’

  And I could hear Havelski smiling all the way from LA.

  (Take 2)

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  [In the style of an embarrassing Oscar speech…]

  Both:[Falling up the stairs to stage] We’d just like to thank everyone who has supported our dream along the way. We’d like to thank The Academy . . . [Realize that’s not strictly relevant and pull themselves together.]

  Jonathan, if it hadn’t been for Scraps playing his trump card and dying you’d have earned the dedication. We love you. Thank you to our awesome, kind and very lovely agent Hannah Sheppard, for well everything, you deserve ALL the pugs (and thank you to The Literary Consultancy for their excellent match making). Thank you to the whole team at Simon & Schuster who have helped make this book the very best it could be inside and out and all the way on to bookshelves. Especially our brilliant editor Jane Griffiths, Rachel Mann, Jade Westwood, Elisa Offord, Jenny Richards and Laura Hough (and to Jane Tait who would be horrified by the repetition of ‘thank you’). It’s been a team effort and we are very glad that we called you back (to be honest you had us at cake). Thanks to James Barriscale for reading the novel with his actor’s eye and giving us lots of help (but agreeing that reality shouldn’t always get in the way of a good line). Thank you to all at The Golden Egg Academy especially Nicki Marshall (we hope Daisy likes Daisy). To all the lovely children’s book people that have made us feel so welcome and shared so much of their expertise and friendship with us on and off line (Abi and Jim you get a special mention).

  Perdita: [grabs the microphone] And thank you to my mother, Sheila, for force-feeding me books and not vegetables (except for Enid Blyton about whose work she was irrationally snobby) and my lovely sister Linnet and all my family and incredibly supportive friends (especially for all the recent hand holding Hannah, Juliet, Natasha, Lia, Krystina and Grace), I’m so lucky to have you . . . wow . . . This is just . . . so . . . overwhelming [breaks down in tears and is escorted from the stage].

  Honor: Moving swiftly on . . . Thanks to everyone I met through acting for being so supportive/fun/weird enough to inspire this novel. Special thanks to Andrew and Dyana at YAT. Thanks to my school for ignoring the rising number of ‘orthodontist’ appointments I had during sports lessons as publication approached. Thanks to the very cool ‘real’ Elektra for letting us steal her name. Thanks to my incredibly supportive and staggeringly handsome boyfriend. LOL jokes he doesn’t exist. But massive thanks to all my friends especially my gals Chiara Richardson, Katerina Lelikova, Reeny Eyi and Tash Jeans. I love you to bits weirdos. So yeah, in conclusion, thanks. [Falls down stairs from the stage.]

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  PERDITA

  I used to be the least numerate tax barrister ever to practise in the English Courts. Frankly it was a relief all around when I hung up my gown & wig and turned (after a bit) to writing. I’m pretty geeky and a bit of a wimp. On the upside I do like teenagers. Actually I like quite a lot of people.

  HONOR

  I’m doing A Levels at St Paul’s School for Girls. I’ve done lots of acting mostly just school plays but a tiny bit of professional too and, although I’m nothing like Elektra, I feel her pain because her most humiliating moments are strangely similar to mine. Actually she has it easy, not only was my first kiss on stage but it was in front of my parents and my headteacher!! So naturally I decided to write about it so you can all mercilessly enjoy a little laugh (or two, or three, or more) at my expense!

  Find us online!

  website: waitingforcallback.com

  honorcargill

  Waiting for Callback

  @perditact

  Permissions

  Quotations Chloe Moretz pg. 3 from The Guardian 1st December 2011 (Cath Clarke), pp. 61 and 176 from The Guardian 10th August 2013 (Andrea Hubert); quotations Alex Pettyfer pg. 14 from The Observor 16th July 2006 (Phil Hoad) and pg. 165 from The Guardian 14th August 2014 (Laura Barton); Shailene Woodley pg. 24 from The Observor 15th March 2015 (Tim Lewis); quotation Hailee Steinfeld pg. 54 from The Observor 20th October 2013 (Tim Adams); Romola Garai pg. 71 from The Guardian 15th September 2015 (webchat); Tom Cruise pg. 83 from The Observor 12th September 2004 (Neil Strauss); quotation Jennifer Lawrence pg. 115 from The Guardian 13th December 2012 (Xan Brooks); quotation Daniel Craig pg. 185 from The Guardian 17th November 2006 (Stuart Jeffries); quotation Robert Pattinson pg. 195 from The Guardian 6th November 2011 (Sanjiv Bhattacharya); quotation Dakota Fanning from The Guardian 20th September 2012 (Ryan Gilbey); quotations Nicholas Hoult pg. 260 from The Guardian 10th July 2010 (Rosanna Greenstreet)and pg. 270 from The Observor 31st January 2010 (Alice Fisher). All reprinted by kind permission of Guardian News and Media Ltd.

  Quotation Nicholas Hoult, pg. 39 from The Telegraph 14th January 2007 (Catherine Shoard); quotations Tom Hiddleston pp. 128 and 281 from The Telegraph 14th January2014 (Chloe Fox); quotation Jessica Chastain from The Telegraph 11th January 2015 (Celia Walden); quotation Natalie Dormer The Telegraph 9th August 2015 (Olly Grant); quotation Eddie Redmayne pg. 312 from The Telegraph 23d November 2009 (Georgia Dehn). All reprinted by kind permission of the Telegraph Media Group and pursuant to Licences dated 16th June 2015 and 1st September 2015.

  Quotation Daniel Radcliffe, pg. 95 from The Sunday Times 10th July 2011; quotations Emma Watson pp. 106 and 298 from The Times 27th June 2009 (Kate Muir); quotation Elle Fanning pg, 142 from The Times 19th October 2012 (Kevin Maher); quotations from Asa Butterfield pg. 152, The Times 30th August 2008(Kevin Maher) and 5th December 2011 (Alex O’Connell); quotation Max Irons from The Times 10th Septembe
r 2014 (Helen Rumbelow); quotations Kristen Stewart pg. 210 and pg. 248 from The Sunday Times 6th September 2009 (Will Lawrence); quotation Cara Delavigne pg. 288 The Times Magazine 16th August 2015 (Shane Watson); quotation Lindsay Lohan pg. 322 from The Times 19th June 2004 (Lesley O’Toole); quotation Suki Waterhouse pg. 335 from The Sunday Times 9th August 2015 (Giles Hattersley). All reprinted by kind permission of News UK and Ireland Ltd.