“We know each other actually,” she says. The words are neatly unpacked, cool and crisp. “Aimee is like my little shadow. She followed me from senior school to drama school, and then a few years later got the same agent. You know Tony, don’t you, Jack?”

“Best agent in town.”

“Exactly, so imagine my surprise when little Aimee Sinclair’s name popped up right next to mine on his client list? Some might say she’s stalking me!”

Alicia throws her head back and they both laugh. I don’t, but I do manage a small smile. It hurts my face.

“What was the part you’ve just finished playing?” she asks me, as though she doesn’t already know. Her hair and makeup are perfect, as usual, and I now regret coming to the bar without any armor. Her bright red lips form a well-practiced pout in anticipation.

“It was the lead in a film called Sometimes I Kill, we finished filming today.” I notice the way her mouth twitches when I say the word lead.

“Sometimes I Kill,” she says, lifting her manicured fingers to her perfect chin in an exaggerated thinking pose.

Did I mention she can’t act for shit?

“Sometimes I Kill,” she repeats. “Oh, yes, I do remember now. Tony sent me that script, he said that I was the director’s first choice, but I turned it down. It wasn’t the right role for me, but I’m sure it was just perfect for you. At this early and uncertain stage in your career, I imagine you can’t be too picky. In fact, I suppose it’s rather lucky for you that I did say no—that meant dearest Tony could send them your headshot instead.”

“I suppose I should be thanking you?”

“I suppose you should!” She beams at me, either not understanding irony or choosing to ignore it. Then her face exchanges the smile for a frown, and she puts her icy-cold hand on mine. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about Tony slimming down his client list?” My eyes must answer for me, because she can tell from my face that I haven’t and looks delighted. “I just hope, for your sake, he doesn’t adopt a ‘last in, first out’ policy. It would be dreadful for your career if he dropped you now.” I zone out for a moment, remembering that Tony said we needed to talk, but hasn’t returned any of my calls since. I keep my concerns to myself.

Alicia joins us and I drink more wine than I should. I listen to the two of them gossip about directors, producers, and fellow actors, while silently worrying that my agent is about to dump me. Jack’s eyes are smiling and wide open, but he can’t seem to see her for who and what she is. Alicia isn’t just two-faced, it’s more complicated than that; she has several sides, all equally self-beneficial. She’s like a loaded dice, but most people don’t know when they’re being played. She spends the whole time constantly looking over Jack’s shoulder, to see if someone more famous is in the room for her to pounce on. Last I heard she was taking a break from acting for a little while, so it seems odd to find her here at Pinewood.

I admire her false eyelashes, which flutter with every false word, and stare in amazement as each tiny synthetic hair transforms into the shape of a letter. A paper chain of miniature black words start to stream from her eyes, her nose, the corners of her mouth, until her whole face is covered in a tattoo of little black lies. I know I am imagining this, and I consider the possibility I might have had too much to drink. She smiles and I notice a tiny bit of red lipstick has made itself at home on her white teeth; the sight of it brings me untold happiness, so I take another big sip of my wine in celebration.

When the bottle is empty, I order another, topping up my glass as soon as it arrives. I look at the way Jack is staring at Alicia and wish she would just go away, I want him to look at me like that. Only me. The thought generates a moment of guilt; I am still married, but then I remember what Ben is doing to me now, and what he has done to me in the past. The lipstick under our bed didn’t get there by itself, and he couldn’t have come up with a plan this elaborate on his own either.

Who is she? Who is helping my husband try to destroy me? When I find out, I’ll destroy them both.

I am most definitely drunk.

Alicia stands to leave and I can smell her perfume as she kisses the air on either side of my cheeks. Her scent is too strong, overpowering and sickly, just like the woman wearing it. I slur my words when I try to say goodbye. It’s just Jack and me now, he’s finally looking back in my direction, and ready or not I know what I want.

Twenty-four

Essex, 1988

“I still don’t know if she’s ready for this,” says Maggie.

“She’s ready,” John replies. “All she’s got to do is walk and hold my hand, it ain’t difficult.”

I think maybe they are going to have a fight. They fight a lot, and it makes me wonder if my real mummy and daddy fought a lot, too, before she died. Maybe that’s just what grown-ups do: shout loud words at each other that have nothing to do with what they are really cross about.

“Would you rather something happened to me?” asks John. “I’m starting to wonder who you care more about? Me, or a child who isn’t even really ours?”

I hear the sound Maggie’s hand makes when it hits a cheek. I know the sound because sometimes it’s my cheek that it’s hitting. Then I hear the sound of John’s big leather boots coming towards my bedroom and the door bursts open. He grabs my wrist and pulls me into the hall. I only see Maggie for a second as we fly past their bedroom; I’ve never seen her cry before.

I trip on the stairs a couple of times on the way down, but John holds me up by one arm until my feet make contact with the wood again. When we get to the bottom, I think we are going to turn right through the metal door that leads into the betting shop, but we don’t do that. John bends down until his face is right in front of mine. His breath smells strange, and when he speaks, little bits of his spit land on my nose and cheeks.

“You stay with me the whole time. You hold my hand. You don’t do anything or say anything to anyone, or I’ll whip your arse so good you won’t be able to sit down for a week. Anyone says anything to you, you just smile. I’m your dad, and you and me are just going for a walk. You understand?”

I don’t understand most of what he just said, but I forget to answer because I’m watching him chew. He’s been chewing gum instead of smoking cigarettes, and I think maybe he should just smoke because chewing gum makes him cranky.

“Hello, is anybody home?” He knocks on my head as though it were a door. It hurts when he does this, and I wish that he wouldn’t. “Put your shoes on.”

I haven’t worn them since I first arrived, and it takes me a little while to remember what to do. I think my feet must have grown too, because my shoes are awfully tight now. John shakes his head as though I’ve done something else wrong, but then he opens the big front door that I came through the night I arrived, and I realize that we are going outside.

There are houses and trees and grass and sunshine, there is so much to see, but we are walking so fast along the road that everything rushes by in a blur, like a painting. John walks so quickly I have to run to keep up. He’s holding me tight with one hand, and holding a black-and-red bag with the word HEAD written on it in the other.