Page 3 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

She never saw or heard from him again until his parents had told my grandparents, three years later, that he was working as an estate agent in Chepstow and was engaged to a girl called Liz.

I’d seen a couple of grainy photographs of him. I possessed the same subtle tilt at the end of my nose and similar thick, expressive brows.

But that was where the similarity ended, as far as I was concerned. I would never be like either of my parents, I reassured myself. I wouldn’t settle. I would go for my dreams, and ok, if I didn’t succeed, at least I wouldn’t dine out on what-ifs like my mum did. And I’d been determined to succeed in my chosen career where my dad had failed. Even my maiden name wasn’t his. I’d legally changed it when I was old enough from Baird to my grandfather’s surname, Madden.

I clutched my phone in my right hand. My acting career wasn’t exactly going the way I’d envisaged. I thought about my amazing drama teacher at Forrest Bank High School, Mrs Hazelwood, who’d encouraged me, inspired me and supported me. She’d been in her late twenties, possessed bags of enthusiasm and was determined to bring out the best in her students. I wondered what she’d say to me right now. From the sitting room, I could hear Jade murmuring as she talked to her parents.

Giving my head a wobble, I fetched up Octavia Dawson’s phone number.

Her plummy, calming tones slid into my ear after a few rings. She offered a few brief niceties before launching into the newspaper review. ‘Not a great write-up about Sinister, was it, in The London Gazette? Although Fox did describe your performance as satisfactory.’

‘Oh yes. I’m welling up right now with gratitude.’

Outside the kitchen window, I could hear the parp of car horns and Notting Hill’s mid-morning stirrings from the treelined streets. The stunning Victorian townhouses and the emerald garden squares often made me feel like I’d stepped into a historical novel. The fact that I was now just a stone’s throw away from the glittering West End still sent my theatrical heart into a tailspin. It was so frustrating; within touching distance, but right now, with this soul‑sucking review glaring up at me in black and white, it seemed further away than ever.

‘What else is there for me, Octavia?’ I pushed, my lilac painted fingernails tapping the edge of our polished kitchen table.

‘You mean any acting roles?’

‘No, brain surgery. Of course acting.’

Octavia let out an awkward little laugh. ‘To be honest, poppet, there’s not really anything I think would suit you at the minute.’

My spine went rigid. The tiny, optimistic flame inside of me, which had been hoping there might be even a crumb of something, snuffed itself out. I knew it. I should never have entertained the thought, even for a microsecond. ‘Nothing at all?’

There was an awkward silence. ‘If I were you, I’d let Fox’s review become tomorrow’s chip paper, and then we can revisit what you could be doing next. Oh, someone wants to speak to me. Got to go. Catch up later. Ciao!’

I blinked at my phone as she hung up. I let it clatter back down on the kitchen table.

Great. Just great. Even my agent was reluctant about being associated with me, thanks to that shitty critic and his shitty review.

Oh God. My phone resumed its pinging with more furious texts from other cast and crew members of Sinister. They were in turmoil, too, worried about how this Fox piece was going to impact them going forward.

I was still too churned up with anger and feeling sorry for myself to make them feel better. I’d message them back once I was able to pull myself together.

I had my rent to pay to Jade, and my credit card bill was beginning to resemble a foreign telephone number. I’d received a generous payment for my part in Sinister, but living in London had eaten a significant hole in that already. What was left, which hadn’t been much, I’d stashed into my savings account. Acting was so precarious, you just never knew if and when the next job would appear, and staying in this picturesque but affluent area meant that everyday living was on the pricey side. My grandparents encouraged me to chase my dreams but advised me that I should have a financial cushion. At the moment, it was more the size of a pin cushion.

I turned over my situation in my head. I had no other option.

I’d give the hospitality agency a call next. Ask them if there were any waitressing gigs going at the moment. That had been my backstop on several occasions when I was struggling to get acting work.

My head jerked up at the sound of Jade’s sandals slapping over the kitchen floor towards me. ‘How did it go with the Ostrich?’

I pulled a face and laughed, despite my insides feeling like they’d been stomped on. Jade often referred to Octavia that way. ‘One of these days, I’ll have a Freudian slip and call her that.’ I puffed out my cheeks. ‘It didn’t go well. She said she doesn’t have anything new for me right now. She wants the hoo-ha over Fox’s review to die down before thinking about putting me forward for something else.’

Jade leant against the sink top and frowned. ‘But you were great in it.’

‘Not that you’re biased or anything.’ I sighed. ‘It’s death by association, I guess. I’ll give the hospitality folks a call now. See if there’s anything going on there.’

Jade pushed herself away from the sink edge. A satisfied little smile was playing around her mouth. ‘I told you that was Mum and Dad on the phone, right?’

‘Yes. How are they?’

‘Mum’s still having fainting fits over my pink hair, and Dad wants to marry me off to the middle son of one of his bridge club mates.’ She curled her lip. ‘As if that’s going to happen.’

She eyed me. ‘Anyway, forget about me being a major disappointment to my parents. We know that already.’ There was that playful smile again. ‘I may have some good news for you.’

My optimism lifted. ‘They don’t know Guy Ritchie, do they?’