Page 23 of Let’s Make a Scene

“There are so many rooms.” Hannah looks around her with interest.

“The rector had fourteen children,” Jack and I say at the same time, and I scowl. It seems I’m not the only one who read the building history on the website, although it’s hard to believe Jack has been as excited about this trip as I have.

“And then the rectory was extended,” I add as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Twice,” Jack puts in quickly, another flash of his teeth as he delights in getting the last word.

Something mean simmers between us again. I battle the urge to stamp on his foot.

We come to a stop.

“It’s these two,” he says, pointing to two doors next to one another. Dropping the bags unceremoniously to the floor, he hands us both a key, and I notice he’s careful not to touch me at all.

“Don’t forget you have hair and makeup tests this afternoon,” he says over his shoulder, already striding away.

This time, I don’t have to be outraged, because Hannah, furious that anyone might be questioning her organizational skills, yells after him. “We know! It’s in the binder!”

She’s still grumbling in exasperation as I turn the key and push open the door to my room.

“Oh!” I exclaim.

We’re up in the eaves of the house and the ceiling slopes gently. A small, square window frames a view of pure, leafy green. The walls are papered with a wildflower print, and a pretty patchwork quilt stretches over a bed with an old-fashioned metal frame. The whole effect is one of clean, peaceful coziness.

“This bed has bedknobs!” I yelp. “It’s an actual Bedknobs and Broomsticks bed!”

“It’s like we’re in a Jane Austen novel,” Hannah calls from her own room, and I step back out into the hall to find it is a mirror image of my own.

“I love it,” I say. Suddenly it all feels more real—not only that we’re about to begin four weeks of filming, but also that I’m stepping into the role of Emilia.

“Okay, five minutes to dump our bags and then we’re heading out,” my personal drill sergeant says, clapping her hands.

I’m happy to fall in line. For the first time since the table read, I feel excited at the thought of performing, and I sail back out of Alveston Hall on a wave of optimism.

Chapter 9 CYNTHIE

“Oh my god, what have you done to your hair?” The woman in front of me stands with her mouth open, eyes wide in a mask of horror.

The wave of optimism comes crashing down.

I lift a hand to the back of my neck, brushing the short, unruly strands. “Er… I had it cut.” I wince.

She steps forward, and I’m enveloped in a cloud of her perfume, which smells delicious. She flicks her own, beautiful curtain of flame-red hair away from her shoulders. “Tell me the truth.” Her voice lowers, her tone hushed. “This is a safe space. Did you do this yourself?”

“No!” My eyes widen. “A hairdresser did it.”

The woman sucks in a sharp breath. “They should be fired!”

“I wasn’t aware that hairdressers could be fired?” I manage. “I thought that was a thing that happened to… um… doctors?”

“Well, we should start doing it. This monster should never be allowed to wield scissors again.”

That seems a little extreme. Hannah, sitting in the corner with her beloved binder in her lap, makes a sound that is suspiciously close to a snigger. The trailer we are in is currently located around the back of Alveston Hall, but tomorrow it will move—along with everything else—to the National Trust property where we’re doing the first lot of filming. I thought I was here for a hair and makeup test, but it seems it’s just one more stop on Cynthie’s tour of humiliation.

“Patty!” the man beside the horrified woman says in a soft, northern accent. “You’re scaring her!”

He smiles sweetly at me from underneath a crop of bleached blond hair. “Don’t mind my friend.” He gestures at Patty, who is staring at my fringe like it’s a war crime. “She’s very passionate about her work. I am too… just in a less terrifying way. I’m Liam.” He leans behind himself and plucks a makeup brush from the counter. “I’m doing your makeup, and Patty—as I’m sure you’ve worked out—does hair.”

Patty and Liam are probably a handful of years older than me and Hannah. Patty is all sharp angles, tattoos, flame-red hair, and perfect eyeliner, wearing black leather trousers, and a David Bowie T-shirt. She emits a vibe that is frighteningly cool. Liam looks like a gorgeous cherub, apple-cheeked, blue-eyed, dressed head to toe in white and radiating goodwill. I wonder if they have coordinated as some sort of double act on purpose: if ever there were to be a devil and an angel on your shoulder, here they are live and in person.