Page 55 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

Dane had a powerful singing voice as he belted out lyrics about love and losing your mind over it. The other guys in the band played their guitars and drums respectively with so much passion and concentration. I found myself captivated by Dane’s performance. He was a true showman, prowling about the stage and engaging with the crowd.

At the end of the song, Dane soaked up the whoops and thunderous applause.

It was as Dane was about to launch into his next track, which he said was called ‘Losing your Levity’, that my mobile rang in my bag. It was Octavia. My heart gave a little skip of optimism. Did she have good news on the acting job front?

I set my half-empty wine glass down on the corner of the table nearest us and caught Evan’s attention. He was supping his pint and looked the epitome of boredom. If he didn’t enjoy Dane’s music, why had he come along tonight? Was it because I said I was going? Or was I flattering myself? I blinked away my wandering thoughts. ‘Evan, I’ve just got to take this. It’s my agent on the phone. Won’t be long.’

‘Ok. I’m not going anywhere. Unfortunately.’

I couldn’t help but smile at Evan’s tortured expression.

I weaved my way through the pub crowd, then stepped out of the languid atmosphere and into the fresh, zinging spring evening. Darkness was pushing out the tangerine sky over the shop rooftops.

‘Oh! I can hear loud music. Having a great time, sweetheart?’ asked Octavia.

‘Yes, not bad, apart from not being able to make it the rest of the way home, due to those two bombs they discovered.’

‘I saw that on the news,’ she breathed into my ear with drama. ‘Crikey. It’s all going on there, isn’t it?’

I thought about Evan and The Ramblings.

‘Anyway,’ she carried on, with an air of importance. ‘I just wanted to let you know that there’s a couple of auditions in a few weeks’ time that I’d like to put you forward for.’

I clutched my phone harder to my ear. ‘Really? Oh, that’s great, Octavia. Thank you!’

Excitement dared to flare in my chest. ‘So, what are they for? Who are they with?’ I started to pace up and down the pub entrance, with bouts of clapping, stomping and music filtering out. A kernel of optimism bloomed in my chest. ‘Do you think the fallout from that review is starting to wane then?’

Octavia started to speak, but I was so delighted to hear that there might be some new roles on the horizon that I didn’t give her an opportunity to explain. ‘Is this for a new project? A TV series? Do I know anyone involved?’

‘Daisy, for heaven’s sake!’ Octavia’s bark made me stand to attention. ‘If you’ll just let me get a word in, I’ll explain!’

‘Sorry. I’m just relieved, that’s all.’

‘I got that impression.’ Octavia cleared her throat. ‘Now, please don’t get carried away. We’re not talking about the London Palladium. One is for a new, bespoke furniture company in South Kensington for their TV advert, and the other is the part of a nurse in a new BBC daytime soap opera.’

I digested this information. ‘A nurse? How big is the part?’

‘Oh, it’s not a regular gig. It’s a brief walk-on. You get four lines.’

My stomach felt like the bottom had fallen out of it. I didn’t want to sound ungrateful. I really didn’t. But a furniture ad and four measly lines? ‘And that’s it?’ I managed.

‘I’m afraid so. At least for the time being.’

I let out a long, low breath of resignation.

‘But you never know. They could lead to something else,’ said Octavia, trying to jolly me along.

I wasn’t sure what a furniture ad and four lines about someone’s medical condition could do to boost my dying acting career. I shook my head, even though Octavia couldn’t see me. Disappointment hollowed me out. ‘Thanks, Octavia. I really appreciate it, but there’s no point.’ I swallowed. ‘I’m taking a break.’

More drums and wailing guitars seeped through the closed pub doors.

Octavia’s voice became crisp. ‘Suit yourself, Daisy, but lots of other people will be chasing those roles. Beggars can’t be choosers, and all that.’

There was a brittle silence before she spoke again. ‘I’ll let you get back to your partying.’

I slung my mobile back in my bag.

I banged through the pub doors, leaving behind the sweet May night and stepping back into flying, long hair, leather and denim jackets and clanking beer glasses.