Page 67 of The Wedding Pact
‘Oh, give me a text if you want to grab a coffee or anything? Your mum has my number,’ she replied before she had a chance to think about whether that was a good idea or not.
He nodded, and then reached an arm as if to touch her shoulder, but pulled it back at the last minute, placing an invisible boundary between them. ‘Good luck with the audition, I look forward to hearing all about your new starring role.’
Abe turned and went inside with no more than a small wave, and August stayed rooted to the spot for a minute. There was something undeniable that moved under the surface when they talked, sunlight caught under a wave that grabbed her attention. She wanted to move on, but Abe? Her landlady’s son? She realised she could hardly have picked a more complicated person to do it with.
I am Catherine Morland, I am Catherine Morland, August chanted to herself with her eyes closed. She struggled to keep her breathing centred as she sat outside the audition room within the Old Theatre Royal. She’d arrived early. Her audition slot wasn’t until close to 1 p.m. but she’d arrived shortly after eleven, as soon as they opened their doors, just in case the casting team were running ahead of schedule.
A middle-aged woman had opened the door, letting in August and only two others, and she’d given August a once over, her eyebrows raised. August had taken this as a good sign – there seemed to be very little competitionandshe’d clearly made an impression. But as she heard the door opening again and saw more hopefuls walking in, the reality of the situation caused a heavy stone of worry to form inside her.
There were a lot of people here.
And August was the only one in costume.
Perhaps that was a good thing – she’d stand out, right? Show she was serious about getting the role? But all the other actresses were dressed casually, comfortably, but somehow still managing to look like delicate Georgian-era teens ready to come of age. A twist of a curl falling over a forehead here, a puff-sleeved shirt there, a floor-length skirt – but made from light cotton, not layers of stiff fabrics. It all caused August’s heart to thud faster. She’d really assumed dressing the part would have been the done thing.
‘August Anderson?’ the woman who’d opened the doors earlier now poked her head out from the audition room.
August stood up, feeling all eyes on her as she shuffled her way towards the room, her taffeta dress making the most godawful rustling noise that cut right through the quiet murmur of people running lines under their breaths.
Come on, August, this isn’t you, she scolded herself during the ten seconds it took to walk through the door and into the audition room, and in those ten seconds, she snapped herself out of her worry. August was confident, outgoing, she was great at improv and she was likeable. Sure, she felt like an egotistical twat thinking about herself like this, but nobody else in that room was going to think it if she didn’t.
‘Hello,’ she smiled, and then, in a louder voice, boomed, ‘Hi, my name is August Anderson and I’m here to read for the role of Matherine Corland!’ She fixed on a pageant-worthy grin and surveyed her audience of three seated at a trestle table on one side of the room: the woman who’d let her in, the one with the raised eyebrows, another woman in glasses, and a gentleman who looked ready to fall asleep at any moment.
They blinked at her and Eyebrows raised them again.
‘Catherine Morland,’ August corrected herself with a jolt and then laughed loudly.
‘Hello, August,’ said Eyebrows. ‘I’m Jan, the producer, this is Elaine, the director, and Bill, our prompter. He’ll read with you today for your scene.’
‘Fantastic, great to meet you all, I’m August Anderson, I’m here to read the role of Catherine Morland.’
Jan, Elaine and Bill all glanced at each other.
‘I like your dress,’ Elaine commented. ‘Very … in character.’
‘Thank you, I like what you’re wearing too,’ August enthused, admiring Elaine’s plain T-shirt and jeans.
‘When you’re ready, August,’ Jan said, her eyebrows remaining steadfastly in the air.
August exhaled slowly. This was it; this was her moment to shine. She channelled Hilary Swank. She channelled Lea Michele inGlee. She swallowed, and said, in her clearest, loudest, most audience-grabbing voice, ‘I have been to see your mother’s room!’
August recited the lines with gusto, hoping her personality and her preparedness were shining through. This would be a bigger production than any of the amateur dramatics performances she’d done in the past, she knew she’d need a bigger voice to be heard right at the back. She’d need more stage presence than was required of her at the Roman Baths, and though she used a lot of facial expressions during her voice work, perhaps she’d better make even more use of them here, in the flesh. She only faltered when she glanced down from the imaginary upper circle she was directing her whole performance to, to see the faces of the three behind the table.
They were wincing; all of them.
August ran out of fuel. She forgot the next word, and fumbled the next line, and skipped the line after that.
‘Would you like to check your script?’ Jan prompted. ‘It is allowed.’
‘Um, no, I’ve memorised all of it,’ August said, feeling the bile rising.
‘I think we’ve got a good sense from there actually,’ Elaine cut in.
‘Really, I do know the rest.’ She couldn’t end on a wince, she just couldn’t, she was supposed to end in applause.
‘That’s okay. Thank you for coming in, August.’
‘Please. I can do it differently if you want.’
