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I sighed. ‘Typical Dom. He’s a lawyer, remember, so basically he denied it and then tried to twist it to look like I’d imagined the whole thing.’
Rebecca rolled her eyes.
‘We’re quite different,’ I said.
‘Sounds like it.’
It was beginning to feel like there was a sort of understanding between us. That we could say anything to each other and it wouldn’t matter what. I’d never really had that before. There was always part of myself I held back from other people, but the more I got to know Rebecca, the more I felt comfortable showing her who I really was.
‘Actually,’ I said, changing tack, ‘I could do with running through my lines for Accident & Emergency if you’d have time. It can be stressful on set as it is, and then it’s even harder to remember things.’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘We can do it now, if you like?’
It had suddenly gone very dark and the fine drops of rain I’d felt a few moments before had turned into a full-on torrential shower.
‘Oh no!’ said Rebecca, looking for her umbrella.
We were right by the Wells Tavern and it seemed like as good a place as any to take shelter.
‘Fancy a quick drink?’ I shouted over the din of the rain now slamming onto tarmac and car roofs and through the huge linden trees that lined the street.
‘Yes!’ she replied, running ahead and through the doors to the pub.
We stood shivering on the mat, laughing.
‘You get a seat and I’ll grab the drinks. What are you having?’ I asked.
She’d found a seat in the corner and had already laid the script I’d handed her out on the table. As I took a seat next to her, I checked out the Andy Warhol-style screen prints on the wall – possibly of local or once-local celebrities: Jamie Oliver, Boy George, Melvyn Bragg. I could see a George Michael one over near the sofas.
The sash window nearest us had been left open and I could still hear the gushing rain, which felt much more relaxing now that we weren’t actually out in it. If I’d closed my eyes, I could have imagined us away somewhere warm and tropical. We’d be sheltering in a straw-roofed beach bar before deciding to brave the rain to for a swim, running hand in hand laughing into the water. I cleared my throat. What was I doing?
‘So you’re playing Peter Walsh?’ said Rebecca, flipping through the pages.
‘Yep. So if you could read everyone else, that would be great.’
Jesus. I needed to concentrate on this rather than getting carried away with bizarre thoughts about frolicking in the sand with Rebecca.
She laughed softly. ‘Hope you’re not expecting much. Acting’s not really my thing.’
‘Honestly, whatever you do it’ll be better than most casting directors manage,’ I said, wanting to put her at ease. ‘You should see them in auditions, mumbling their way through the lines, completely devoid of emotion.’
‘That makes me feel better,’ she replied, picking up the script and holding it with a vice-like grip. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s give it a go. Shall I start with the scene when they’re about to get on the coach outside the school?’
I nodded, taking a deep breath. ‘Yep. Go for it.’
‘Sir? How long is going to take us to get there?’
Rebecca began to read the part of Julie, the girl who would eventually nearly die in a reservoir. She was putting some emotion into it, I could see her really trying to get into character, and I thought it was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen and actually quite good.
I responded with my line and so we carried on until we’d read all of my scenes twice through. I didn’t even care that the guy on the next table to us kept looking round. Not to sound arrogant, but I was used to that sort of thing. I could see that Rebecca had felt a bit self-conscious, but it hadn’t stopped her.
‘You’re word-perfect,’ she said, sounding impressed.
‘Well, I was up half the night learning them,’ I confessed.
‘I can totally see you in this part,’ she said, looking down at the paper, which was highlighted in several different colours. ‘Do they always send it on orange paper?’
I shook my head. ‘I printed it that way myself. It helps if you’re dyslexic. Something to do with minimising visual stress.’
