Waiting for Callback (30 page)

I hesitated. ‘Not for
sure
. Now it’s just something that might but probably won’t happen. I’m not stupid, Mum, I know it would be a big decision.’ It would
be a much bigger decision than whether to take a bit part or do a voice-over for a minor squirrel. It would change things. I’d thought about this. ‘I know it would be hard work, not
some cushy ride. I just really, really want to be the one who decides. I don’t mean I won’t listen to you and Dad, of course I will. It’s just . . . it’s just that
it’s my life and
I want you to listen to me too
.’

She looked at me for a long minute. ‘You know what we need? We need a List.’ (And yes, she did say ‘list’ like it had a capital letter.) ‘We need paper and we need
pens. Well, you do – you need to be the list-maker.’

She was right. There’s nothing like being the list-maker to make you feel as if you’re in control.

‘What shall I put first?’

‘What do you want to put first?’

That was quite an annoying answer. I looked at the blank sheet of paper and wrote:

‘Agreed?’ I asked her.

‘I think maybe they have to contact me because you’re under sixteen,’ Mum said. ‘How about you put that they should always email you
and
me. And you have to check
your emails. I don’t care which of us they phone, but you’re usually at school.’

I crossed out my first attempt and started again:

‘Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ she said. ‘What’s next?’

‘Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ she confirmed.

‘Agreed?’ I asked.

‘Not agreed.’

‘Room for negotiation?’

‘No room.’

I crossed that one out too. I needed a clean sheet of paper.

‘We’ve talked about this, Elektra. Stella says it’s usual to be chaperoned under sixteen.’

‘Tons of kids turn up on their own. Honestly.’

‘How about we agree that if Stella says it’s OK and it’s in London and it’s near a Tube station then you can go on your own?’

‘Is that your final offer?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then all right.’ I wrote it out.

‘If this is turning into a contractual negotiation about your independence, is there any chance we could add in some additional stuff like you agreeing always to sort out your own laundry
and cook the occasional meal?’

I gave that the thought it deserved. ‘You know what I was thinking?’ I said.

‘No, what were you thinking?’

‘We don’t really need an actual list. We can just wing it.’

She laughed. ‘Sounds like a plan. So, I guess I’m making supper?’

‘I’ll help,’ I offered.

‘And I promise I’ll call Stella and ask her to email you first if she hears anything about
Straker
.’

I wasn’t holding my breath. I was all but resigned to the fact that I’d be going to the movies in about a year to watch a gigantic Amy make out with a gigantic Carlo on a gigantic
screen. Hopefully, not in 3D.

The sane thing to do was try to forget about
Straker
and concentrate on what I was going to wear to Stephanie’s party.

‘So, who is this Stephanie?’

‘I’ve told you a hundred times, Mum. She’s in my year at school.’ Calm down. I didn’t say ‘calm down’ out loud. Obviously.

‘But who is she? Why have you never mentioned her? Who are her friends? What do her parents do?’

‘Why the interrogation? This is
ridiculous
.’ Mistake, but we’d been through all this about five times and Mum still couldn’t get her head round the fact that I
didn’t ask all my new friends for a list of personal details about them and their extended family. I really didn’t get why she was so stressy; she’d probably read way too many
articles about teenagers’ house parties. It so wasn’t going to be that sort of party (well, probably not).

‘This is not ridiculous. If you expect me to allow you to go off to some girl’s party in the middle of the night
one week before exams
, you can expect me to ask some
questions.’

‘This isn’t “some questions”, it’s
every
question. I’m totally on top of my revision.’ I wasn’t. ‘And it’s not the middle of
the night, it’s
half past nine
. Stephanie’s one of Jenny’s best friends. She only came to our school last year which is why I haven’t mentioned her.’ No need to
add that the other reason I hadn’t mentioned Stephanie before was because I didn’t really know her. ‘I think her mum’s a lawyer or something that people wear dark, sharp
suits for, but I’m not sure because we don’t really talk about what our parents do, oddly enough.’

‘There’s no call for sarcasm, Elektra Ophelia,’ said my mum, handing me a brownie fresh out of the oven. ‘How are you planning on getting there?’ She was
weakening.

‘I’ll get the Tube.’

‘You
cannot
be serious. Dressed like that?’

There was absolutely nothing wrong with how I was dressed. My skirt was on the shortish side, I admit (new, very expensive and perfectly balanced on the verge of classy and slutty – thank
you, Eulalie), but I had decided to own my stork legs instead of apologizing for them. (Stork legs is not a self-deprecating way of saying I have very long, slim legs – they actually do look
like stork’s legs.) I gave Digby a corner of brownie because he looked so tragic.

My phone rang and Stella’s number came up on the screen. This was quite scary.

‘Hi, Stella,’ I said (unfortunately, it came out squeaky). Inside my head, I was shouting HAVE YOU HEARD ANYTHING ABOUT STRAKER? but I didn’t say that because I was a cool and
rational working actor – an actor whose agent now phoned
her
to discuss her career
and not her mother
.

‘You must be wondering if I’ve heard anything about
Straker
,’ she said.

‘Not really,’ I lied and Stella laughed because I wasn’t that good an actor. My mum was making ‘What? What?’ faces at me – role reversal. ‘I
haven’t heard a thing,’ said Stella after a painful pause. ‘That wasn’t why I was phoning.’

Then why?
Fortuneswell
? Please let it be
Fortuneswell
. A crisps advert?

‘It was just to say that unfortunately the role I was putting you up for in
Doctors
has been cut.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s not going to someone else. They just need the screen time to resolve a bit of infidelity among the medical staff.’

‘Oh.’

‘I just wanted to let you know so you didn’t keep that date free.’

‘Thank you,’ I said and resisted the temptation to grill her on every other project we’d ever talked about.

‘My pleasure,’ she said without a trace of sarcasm and hung up.

My expectations management still needed a bit of work.

‘Mum? Did you find it a bit scary talking to Stella on the phone?’

She laughed. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. And then (because it was worth a try and she looked pleased with me), ‘Any chance of a lift to Stephanie’s house?’

‘Can’t this boy you’re going with pick you up? That’s what used to happen on a date; it’s basic good manners.’

‘It’s not a date.’

‘I thought you told me he asked you to go with him.’

‘That doesn’t mean it’s a date.’

‘Of course it does.’

She just didn’t get it. I thought about all the steps between being plus one’d by Archie to Steph’s party to getting with Archie (would he even try?) to going out with Archie.
We had some way to go. I thought about explaining all that to my mum. No, just no.

But she did agree to give me a lift.

Stephanie had a big house and it looked even bigger because all the lights were on and the door was open. Two older guys (I think they were her brothers) were checking that
nobody got in that wasn’t meant to. Her parents were nowhere to be seen, but I guessed her father was probably drowning his fears at the local pub while her mother was secretly watching from
a neighbour’s upstairs window.

‘Hi . . . er, I’m Elektra James.’ (Like there would be two Elektras; that couldn’t happen again in one lifetime, could it?)

One of the guys skimmed down a list with his pencil (he was taking this very seriously). ‘Nah, sorry, I can’t see your name.’

‘No, I’m Archie Mortimer’s plus one.’ Complicated mixture of pride and embarrassment right there.

There was another
long
pause as he checked out the names. Either he was enjoying making me cringe or he was a bit stupid. It was a long list. I wished he would hurry up; there were three
people lined up behind me.

‘Can’t see him either . . . Oh, yeah. OK, he’s already here. Go on in.’ He turned his attention to the two girls next in the line. I didn’t recognize them –
they must have gone to Stephanie’s old school – but I half wished my mum could have seen what they were wearing, only because it made my outfit look nun-like.

It was packed. Stephanie was sitting halfway up the stairs and I would have said hello, but she had her arm round some girl who was crying.

I saw Archie before he saw me. He was chatting to Jenny. Maybe he was chatting
up
Jenny; they were standing really close to each other and she was looking amazing in a little red bandage
dress with her hair all big and messy and her eyes kohled and her big lips glossed. She looked at least eighteen.

‘Hey, Jenny,’ I said awkwardly because I didn’t want to say ‘hey, Archie’.

They turned as one and I could tell straight away by how pleased they both were to see me that he hadn’t been chatting her up. Jenny gave me a big squashy hug; she’d obviously had
something to drink and was at that sentimental stage where everyone was her best friend in the world. Frankly, Archie looked relieved that I was rescuing him.

‘Elektra, you’re here. Sweet. I’ve been texting you all afternoon. I was going to pick you up.’

My mum would have been proud of him.

‘Sorry, my phone went AWOL for a couple of hours.’ Strangely, I’d found it in the fridge, but I didn’t really need to tell him that.

He pulled me towards him for a hug and I let him because it was a party and I was technically only invited because I was his plus one, but mostly because I really wanted him to.

‘How did it go?’ His arm was draped round my shoulders like it was meant to be there.

‘What?’ I was a bit befuddled, but in a good way. He smelled nice, a little bit of beer and a little bit of clean T-shirt (a way nicer combination than it sounds).

‘The
Straker
callback!’

Oh yeah, the callback, that had been the biggest thing going on in my life until about twenty-five seconds ago when Archie had started to run his fingers up and down my arm. He was one of the
very few people who would understand about
Straker
(and yes, I’d told him about it too – apparently, secret-keeping wouldn’t go on my list of ‘skills’).
‘It was OK, a bit weird,’ which was one way to describe it. ‘We did yoga.’

He didn’t look that surprised, but then Archie was used to drama workshops. ‘Did they like you?’

‘You know that I have no idea what the answer to that question is.’

‘Sorry,’ he said and pulled me even closer. Nice. ‘What were the rest of the shortlist like?’

Carlo entered my conscience and crossed right out of it again. Carlo, Carlo who?

‘Amy Underhill was there. So I definitely won’t get it. She was up for the same part.’

Archie looked blank.

‘You know the girl who plays Kelly in
Sunningtown
?’

He still looked blank – obviously, not his sort of show.

‘It’s a soap and Amy’s famous-ish and I reckon she’s got it in the bag.’

‘You’ll be better than her and you’re way hotter,’ he said.

That would have been an even better compliment if he’d had a clue who Amy Underhill was, but I’d take it (not too seriously but still).

The room was heaving now, the music really loud. Jenny and Hugo (this guy she’d fancied forever) were draped all over each other. I wasn’t sure if that was because they were both
drunk and needed the support, but whatever: they looked happy. No matter how closely Archie and I stood together, we kept getting jostled and there wasn’t anywhere for us to sit (there was
already a queue for the snogging sofa). We went outside and perched on a low wall in the garden. It was nice out there. Someone, Stephanie I suppose, had lit heaps of little tea lights and dotted
them all around the flower beds. Don’t want to be cringey here, but it was romantic, if a bit of a drunk-teen fire hazard.