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I was sick to death of repeating myself. Why was I constantly having to justify my career choice to people, including my own family? For people who weren’t actors or some other kind of creative, I didn’t suppose they understood what it was like to love doing something so much that you couldn’t imagine giving it up, even if you never made enough money for a mortgage and a mini SUV and luxury holidays and all those other materialistic things that everyone (my family, in particular) seemed hung up on.
‘My client said he could put in a good word for you. It’s a big school. Excellent facilities, he said: a purpose-built theatre. They want to put on a couple of big plays a year.’
I massaged my temples, trying to stay calm.
‘I don’t think so, Dad,’ I said, preparing myself for the onslaught of anger and outrage.
On the odd occasion Dad bothered to give me advice, he expected me to take it. And because I was so used to Dad having a go at me, it was like my body was primed and ready for attack whenever I was with him. Although when I say ‘primed and ready’, what I actually tended to do was retreat as quickly as was humanly possible.
‘I want you to think about it,’ he said, summoning the waiter and ordering a glass of Pinot Noir. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. ‘We’re worried about you.’
I actually laughed out loud. Not another one? ‘Worried about what?’
‘That you’re not going to make anything of yourself.’
I snapped then. ‘Like Dom, you mean? That’s the benchmark, really, isn’t it? If I’m not a lawyer and I’m not throwing my cash around, I must be a complete and utter failure.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ hissed Dad, looking furtively around. ‘I’ve got a client coming in a minute.’
‘I don’t want to be a teacher, Dad,’ I said quietly, losing the will to fight over this again.
He sighed. ‘They’re paying over forty grand a year, Jack. And you wouldn’t need to go in every day; he said they might agree to three days a week. He reckons he could easily get you the job. He runs the place, basically.’
I tried not to look impressed by the idea of forty thousand pounds a year. Compared to what I earned at the pub, that felt like a phenomenal amount of money. But I’d be stuck, then, wouldn’t I? I’d be committed. What if an audition came up? It wasn’t like you could say to a casting director: Oh, I’m working that day, could I come in next Monday instead? They’d laugh in your face.
‘I’m not ready to give up on it yet,’ I said to Dad, knowing he wouldn’t understand.
‘Give up on what?’ he snorted. ‘Scrabbling around for jobs and being permanently on the poverty line?’
I rubbed my hand over my mouth. Was that really what they thought of me? Had he forgotten about my role at the National, my part of one of the biggest serial dramas in the country? ‘The thing is, though, if I was to take a teaching job, I wouldn’t feel like a proper actor anymore.’ Although, admittedly, the idea of having the finances of a proper adult was hugely appealing.
‘It’s up to you, Jack,’ said Dad, chugging on his wine as soon as it arrived at the table. ‘But you might not get a chance like this again. A decent job in a highly regarded school. Maybe you could think about passing some of your talent on to the next generation. Give something back.’ As though Dad’s job – getting rich people out of trouble, basically – was ‘giving something back’.
‘Actually, I saved someone’s life the other day, so there’s that.’
I wasn’t sure where that came from, but it was as if I needed to prove to him that I wasn’t entirely pathetic.
Dad looked confused. ‘What? When?’
‘My neighbour, Clive, got knocked down by a car. Stopped breathing and everything. I had to do CPR until the ambulance came.’
I could tell Dad didn’t know how to respond. That he was secretly impressed by the idea that his feeble son could actually step up when required.
‘Where did you learn how to do that, then?’ asked Dad, opening the top button of his shirt.
‘I had to do it in a scene once. For Holby. We got proper lessons from a real-life doctor so that it looked authentic.’
I felt slightly odd bragging about something like this when poor Clive was still flat on his back in hospital, but I was actually proud of myself for once and I didn’t think there was any harm in telling my dad about it. Most people would, wouldn’t they?
‘Well good for you,’ said Dad, clearing his throat.
I sighed, picking up my bag. Was that the best he could do?
‘Do you want some money for the drinks?’ I asked, getting up out of my seat.
Dad waved me away. ‘Course not.’
‘See you later, then,’ I said.
‘I won’t give him a definite no on the job, yet,’ called Dad after me.
The idea of admitting defeat and trying something new terrified me. Look at Rebecca with her marketing job. I didn’t know for sure, but it seemed a bit as though she was going through the motions. When she talked about work, she seemed almost embarrassed about it. I didn’t blame her, actually, and I’d put her ‘making rich people richer’ job in a similar category to my dad’s (although presumably her clients hadn’t actually broken the law). And, in her defence, she didn’t exactly seem comfortable with it. In any case, I wasn’t ready to become one of the thousands of failed actors out there. I was good enough to make it, I knew I was.
As I crossed the piazza and headed back up towards Long Acre, I gave myself my own, personal agenda: if I didn’t start to make more money, if I didn’t get a regular on a series, or something in a long-running play in the next twelve months, I’d consider retraining. But this was a decision I’d make on my own, not something to be forced on me by my parents, who had never supported me being an actor, anyway. Mum had been less vocal about her disappointment, but only because she’d been too caught up in her own career revival to care. I’d even paid for drama school myself, with loans and part-time jobs. They’d begrudgingly offered to cover the course fees, but I hadn’t wanted to feel indebted to them, or to be under pressure to make enough money to pay them back (which was just as well now and possibly the best decision I’d ever made).
No, I was much better on my own, carving my own path and doing what I thought was best for me at the time, even if it turned out not to be in the end. I only had myself to blame, then, didn’t I?
