by Laura Wood
“If you were really a charitable man, you’d marry her,” I shoot back.
This time Robert is ready for me and there’s no telling flush on his cheeks. “Alas,” he says languidly. “She won’t have me.”
This time it’s my turn to be surprised. “You mean you’ve asked her?”
He sighs, flashing Lou a particularly wicked smile before he answers. “Twice.”
“Lou!” I squeal. “Is this true?”
Lou groans, burying her face in her hands for a moment before darting a poisonous glance at Robert, who is thoroughly enjoying himself. “We will get married,” she says. “One day. Just not yet.”
“It’s a very strange way of doing things, if you ask me,” I murmur doubtfully.
“Thank you, Freya.” Robert leans forward to offer me another biscuit. I take two. “I’ve told her I’m not asking again. Next time she has to ask me. There’s only so much a man’s pride can stand.”
“Your pride seems perfectly fine to me,” Lou grumbles. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone so pleased with themselves.”
“Abused like this in my own home…”
“Aha!” I point at him accusingly. “I knew you lived here.”
“My sister’s own home,” he corrects himself smoothly.
“Ignore her,” Lou says firmly. “She’s only trying to stir up trouble to distract from the fact that we should be giving her an earful for worrying Midge and Pa. Really, Freya, I can’t understand this at all.”
“Can’t you?” I leap to my feet. “Ha! That’s rich, coming from you. You ran off to London to follow your dreams!”
“I understand that part. But Midge and Pa were so supportive of me. Why go about it like this?”
“Because I’m an artist, Louise!” I say passionately. “I don’t need my parents making it easy for me.” I regret that I have already leaped to my feet, because I think this might have been a better moment for it. Instead I toss my head defiantly. “My passion and dedication to the craft must overcome every obstacle. Don’t you understand what a catastrophe it would have been to encounter no obstacles at all? I have to struggle.”
Lou shakes her head. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“You don’t understand me at all.” I fold my arms. “None of you ever have.” I mean for the words to sound hard and angry, but instead they come out with a little quiver.
Lou looks like she might be about to say something else then, but she’s interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone from the hallway.
“You’d better get that,” she says. “It’s for you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“So you got there safe and sound.” Midge’s placid voice comes down the line. She doesn’t seem to be displaying any of the anxiety that Lou was worried about.
Unfortunately, she’s not the only person intent on taking part in the conversation.
“And what a miracle that is!” a shrill voice chimes in, in the background. “Running away without a word and leaving your poor mother to worry herself half to death! It’s the outside of enough, and I’ve told your parents they should wash their hands of you…”
“What is Aunt Irene doing there?” I hiss.
“Your aunt has been quite … concerned about you,” Midge says, and for the first time in our conversation her tone sounds a little strained. I know that my aunt’s “concern” is really an excuse to wade in and make her displeasure known.
“Oh, no, she was there when you found my note?” I ask. “I am sorry about that, Midge. What a thing to do to you.”
“It’s all right, heart,” Midge replies softly. “I was worried you’d go hungry, that was all.” I almost laugh then, because it’s so typical of my unflappable mother to be worried about me missing dinner, and I feel my heart ache a little.
“Oh, Midge,” I say suddenly, gripping the phone tightly in my hands. “I am sorry. It was an awful thing to do. It just seemed like the absolute only way to get a bit of living done.”
“Well, you selfish little so-and-so, why, if you were my daughter I’d—” Aunt Irene’s piercing voice is back again.
“Reeny, that’s enough!” Midge cuts her off, her voice sharpening. “Freya is with her sister now and there’s no harm done, so we’ll let the matter drop.”
I can hear Aunt Irene continue to grumble in the background. I think I catch the words “eyes” and “ravens” and can only assume that her anger is taking a biblical turn.
“Thank you, Midge,” I say, subdued.
“Now, you’d better put me on to your sister so that we can discuss arrangements.”
“But I can stay, can’t I?” I ask quickly.
“I think that will depend on your sister,” Midge points out. There is the faintest hint of a laugh in her voice. “She’s the one who’s going to have to feed you.”
Lou comes through to the hall to talk to Midge and I return to the sitting room, where Robert asks me hundreds of questions about home. Robert absolutely loves hearing about our family. I’ve never met anybody so interested in how Gerald – the family motor – is running, or how Tom’s latest schemes to build his own sail-boat are panning out (not terribly well, actually; there have been some significant buoyancy issues, which is not ideal in a boat), or what rude words the triplets delight in shouting at the vicar. Robert listens to these mundane bits of information like they’re fairy stories, his eyes gleaming with laughter.
“I can’t believe you actually want to know all of this,” I say.
He shrugs. “It’s nice having a big family like yours. I wish I did… It’s just me and Caitlin now.”
“And she’s still in Paris?” Caitlin is just as gorgeous as Robert, and she’s married to a jazz musician who’s getting to be quite well-known. It’s all painfully glamorous.
“Yes, though she and Lucky are talking about moving to America. It’s difficult there after the crash, people are really struggling, but we have friends over there who think his band could do very well.” He suddenly looks unexpectedly forlorn. “I’m not sure what they’ll do.”
It’s strange to think of Robert being lonely. He always seems so self-contained and untouched by things.
“Well, you’re a part of our big family now,” I say lightly, and the expression on his face is hard to read.
That’s when Lou walks back into the room.
“So?” I say quickly. “Can I stay?”
“Of course you can stay.”
I throw myself at her, hugging her and jumping up and down at the same time. Lou makes noises of protest.
“You do know that if you’d just asked like a normal person you could have come any time you liked,” she grumbles.
“Yes, but now it’s part of my story,” I explain. “Now, my career begins with a daring act, taking my future into my own two hands, leaving behind provincial life in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, making a wild dash through darkest night towards the unknown…” I pause, considering. “Calling up my sister and coming for a visit doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.”
“Well, Midge and I agreed you could stay for two weeks,” Lou says easily. “I really do understand wanting to see a bit more of the world. The first time Caitlin brought me to London it felt like something I’d been looking for my whole life.”
“Two weeks!” I exclaim in dismay, cutting off this particular trip down memory lane. “But you don’t understand! I’ve run away from home! I’m never going back!”
Lou blinks at me. “What are you talking about?”
I take a deep breath. “I’m going to make it happen,” I say. “Do what I’ve always longed to do. Become an actress on the stage.”
There is a silence. “Freya,” Lou says, with a gentleness that immediately puts my back up. “You don’t just become an actress. It takes hard work; you can’t simply run away from home without a plan. Of course, if you want to move to London to pursue things at some point in the future, then I can help you. We can look at getting you some s
ort of work – secretarial college, perhaps…”
“Speaking of work, I’d better go,” Robert interjects.
“Coward,” Lou murmurs as he kisses her quickly on the cheek and makes his escape, lifting a hand in a friendly half-wave to me as he goes.
“But I’m good!” I say fiercely, ignoring all of this and returning to the matter at hand. “You know I am.”
“Of course you’re talented, Freya,” Lou says, still in that gentle voice. “But you can’t just turn up in London and declare yourself an actress. You need to be more practical. You haven’t got the first idea how any of it works.” She’s talking to me as if I was one of the triplets and I feel my temper rising.
Although I have read Sun Tzu’s The Art of War several times, and I know perfectly well that a hasty temper is a dangerous fault, it is one that I cannot seem to conquer altogether. And right now I feel a hot and righteous anger bubbling through me.
“That just goes to show what you know,” I hear myself say. “As it happens, I already have an audition lined up for tomorrow!”
I have the satisfaction of seeing Lou look stunned.
“Yes!” I say firmly. This will teach her to talk to me like I’m a child. “At the – the Queen Anne Theatre! They’re doing a touring production of The Importance of Being Earnest.”
“And you have an audition?” She is frowning in disbelief.
“Certainly,” I say calmly.
“Oh.” She is obviously nonplussed by this. “Well, that’s… I didn’t realize…”
“I know you didn’t.” I use my iciest tones. “Because you still think I’m a child. But you’ve been gone for two years now, Lou. Things have changed. I’ve changed.”
There’s a pause.
“You’re right,” she says at last, and I see a dawning respect in her eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re still my little sister, it’s hard to … but that’s wonderful news. Why don’t I show you up to your room, and then you can tell me all about it?”
“That would be nice,” I manage, but the electric pulse of anger has gone, leaving me hollow, and I feel an absolute worm listening to her apologize when I know I’ve told her a pack of lies.
How else could I get her to listen, though? I could hear it in her voice – the big sister voice. There was no way she was going to take me seriously even if I started talking about hard work and acting classes. Still, Lou is no fool and unless I start to come up with some actual auditions she’ll soon see through the lie. I think of Kit, and what he said about my being able to visit him at the Queen Anne Theatre. Maybe, just maybe, something will come of that, I think desperately. Maybe I can make something happen.
As Lou leads me up the white, winding staircase my heart thumps unhappily and one question rattles around and around inside my brain.
What have I done?
CHAPTER FIVE
After a good night’s sleep I am feeling much better. I am something of an optimist by nature, and I don’t tend to stay disheartened for long, I much prefer to think the best. I’m sure that everything will work out.
After all, ever since I was five years old, I’ve known that I wanted to move to London and become an actress. It’s a part of me, this vision of the future; it’s bone-deep, ingrained. It feels as if all of my life has been building towards this moment, and now that it’s here, nothing is going to stop me. It’s as inevitable as winter following on the heels of autumn. Of course I’ll make a success of it. Because I have to.
I have slept late, curled up under the blankets like a particularly satisfied dormouse, and it is almost midday already. The bedroom Lou showed me to yesterday is painted a cheerful yellow, and it is light and bright thanks to a large window that looks out on to the street. I allow myself a moment just to enjoy being here. There’s an old oak tree outside the window, and I can almost imagine that I’m living in its branches, among the ember-orange leaves. The bed is wide and piled with fluffy pillows and a slightly faded patchwork quilt that I recognize as being from Lou’s room in Cornwall. There’s a dressing table and a bookcase that holds worn old copies of children’s books – Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, Treasure Island. It’s comfortable here, safe and cosy. There’s even a very tiny bathroom just for me – a luxury I have never even dreamed of.
I wash, then dress and stand in front of the mirror to comb the tangles from my hair, still damp from washing it in Lou’s peppermint-scented shampoo. Lou was right when she said I look like Alice – though Alice is an absolute knock-out, and I am not exactly. My face is not quite as perfectly symmetrical as hers, my hair is not the same burnished gold, but a paler, more silvery blonde. I’m shorter, rounder, with less of Alice’s willowy grace. I have the same dark blue eyes, but not the dimples that Pa says could charm the birds from the trees. Still, I like my face. I like the soft roundness of my cheeks and the heart-shaped point of my chin. I like my mouth, even though it is perhaps a little too big. It has character. It is capable of expressing many things.
I turn one way and then the other, craning my neck to take in every angle of myself, before nodding in satisfaction at today’s wardrobe choice. Naturally, the Victorian street urchin costume was out, but last night, when I pulled the few crumpled frocks I had brought with me from Pa’s duffle bag, Lou had eyed them doubtfully and asked if they were really the thing for auditioning.
I told her I could audition in a potato sack and still make it work, but in the morning reality set in and I realized they really were too shabby. I crept into her room and helped myself to her wardrobe, borrowing a pale, mint green dress, belted at the waist with a skirt that flares out when I move, cut to several inches above my ankle. The shape and the belt mean it fits reasonably well. It is perhaps a tiny bit long and a bit too tight across my chest and my hips, but I’m used to living in cast-offs. As the third daughter I’m not sure I’ve ever worn anything made to fit me properly.
I could let the dress out myself, but even I know that’s a step too far. I have technically stolen it, after all. (Though, really, it’s only borrowing, and this is what sisters are for.)
Now, standing in front of the mirror, I stroke the material. It is soft and smells faintly of Lou’s bluebell perfume. It makes me feel stylish and grown up, and I stand a little taller in it.
I’ve been making my own costumes for years now – in fact, I’m the only one of my sisters who is any good with a needle – and I know how important clothes are, how they can change the way you feel, the way you move and act. In this cool green dress I too have become cool and unruffled, a confident young woman about town. I sweep my hair up in to a smooth chignon, pinning it back neat and elegant, and apply some of the lipstick that I swiped from Lou’s dressing table. It is red as a ripe apple, the perfect finishing touch.
The girl staring back at me in the mirror glitters with a diamond-hard determination. I look so confident that I even fool myself.
I glide happily downstairs. There is a note on the table in the hallway, propped against a vase full of beautiful roses, smelling heavenly, the colour of plum jam. I recognize Lou’s untidy scrawl.
Dear Freya,
Didn’t want to wake you. Gone to work – help yourself to whatever you can scare up in the larder. The tea is in the yellow tin from home. There’s a key on the table, and a map to help you find your way about. Good luck with the audition – Robert says we will open some champagne later to toast your bright future!
Lx
P.S. I know exactly what you’re thinking, and while I do not doubt that you have already raided my wardrobe, no you CAN’T borrow my good coat.
I make my way through the house and down the stairs to the basement kitchen. It is small and the remnants of this morning’s breakfast languish by the sink on white china plates stamped with blue flowers. When I make my way back up to the sitting room it is with quite a decent picnic: brown bread and sharp cheese, an apple and a few ginger biscuits. I put a record on the record player and eat on the floor in the sitting room, lying on the
rug on my stomach, careful not to crease the dress. I leaf through several magazines that Lou has left lying around. One of them is the one Lou works for, and it contains her own story about a fiery murderess called Lady Amelia, which is – though I wouldn’t want to inflate her ego too much by actually telling her so – absolutely thrilling.
I think for a moment about Lou’s life and how happy she seems. I try to ignore the familiar pang of envy, the greedy feeling that I want to take a piece of this for myself.
The house is still and quiet. I turn on to my back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the crackle of the jazz record playing. Kit must be at the theatre by now. He told me to come down in the afternoon, and it is technically after noon now.
I get to my feet, brush and straighten my skirts, and head for the mirror over the fireplace where I carefully reapply my lipstick. Leaning forward I plant my lips on my own reflection, leaving it there, like a brand on the glass: a perfect, red kiss.
Sweeping up the key and map off the hallway table, I pause only to shrug on Lou’s good coat, a rich belted brown tweed with a faux fox fur collar that tickles my neck, and a daring flash of green silk from the lining. Then I sail out of the door.
I turn out of Lou’s quiet road, towards the hum and thrum of the city. The streets are full of busy, bustling people who all seem to be in a rush to get somewhere. I like feeling like one of them. After all, I have somewhere to get to as well.
I love seeing the women in their modern, colourful clothes, hearing the roar of the traffic, staring, bewitched, into enormous shop windows full of everything from clothes to toys to suitcases to kitchenware to towering patisserie. It all feels so big, the buildings stretching up endlessly into skies the flat grey of a dreary November day. There are narrow roads, cobbled and twisting, springing off vast streets, wide enough to give a confused feeling of space coupled with the thronging and slightly claustrophobic crowds.
Not wishing to appear to be a tourist, I try to look at the map as little as possible, and as a result get lost several times on the way to the theatre. After one wrong turn I find myself outside Hatchards, its tall windows full of beautiful books, and I press my fingers briefly to the glass before stepping through the front door.