Page 29 of A Snowfall of Silver

“Of course you are,” I break in. “Why, you know the whole thing backwards by now.”

“You’re right,” Alma nods. But she still looks as though she’s about to face the gallows. I decide she probably needs teasing out of her mood.

“Oh, Alma, you look exactly like you’re about to be martyred at the stake. You should use it in a performance one day, perhaps Joan of Arc.”

The martyred look dissolves into laughter, and she bats at my arm. “All right,” Alma says, “I’m being ungrateful.” She turns to Miss Meriden. “Thank you, Miss Meriden, I’ll go and get ready.”

“I’ll wait and walk over to the theatre with you,” says Miss Meriden.

Alma pushes away from the table and makes her way out of the dining room, throwing a tremulous smile over her shoulder at us.

“You did very well with her,” Miss Meriden says, picking up her own cup of tea and looking at me over the top of it. She sounds a little bit surprised.

I shrug. “I’m used to siblings. Dramatics don’t faze me. She’ll remember how much she wanted the opportunity once we’re at the theatre.”

“And you?” Miss Meriden asks. “Do you want the opportunity?”

Our eyes meet for a moment.

Ambition. Opportunity. Want.

The words dance around inside me.

“You know I do,” I say at last.

There’s a pause and then Miss Meriden nods. “It’s possible Mr Cantwell will ask you to step in as understudy. He seemed to like your audition. You will still have to keep on top of all your other responsibilities, of course.”

“Of – of course,” I manage.

“It’s a lot of work. Mr Cantwell will want you word perfect and it’s unlikely you’ll perform.”

“That doesn’t matter. If I could read lines with Mr Cantwell, I wouldn’t ask for anything more.”

I say it so fervently I almost believe it, but I know that it’s not true. I know that my greedy, gluttonous heart is already hoping for more. I know that my insatiable, out-of-control imagination is already picturing the lights, the applause, the accolades.

I think Miss Meriden knows it too, because the look she gives me is slightly pitying.

“Well, then,” she says, “I think we’d all better get to work. Time to find out if Alma can live up to expectations.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It turns out that Alma is good. Better than good. Better than Daphne was, even.

That night she gives a performance more than worthy of a Rhys Cantwell production. It’s strange watching her from my position in the wings. In real life she’s so quiet and self-contained, a little bit serious, but onstage she becomes a different person altogether – it’s like someone has lit a candle inside her.

I had thought that she would try and copy Daphne’s performance and mannerisms, but she doesn’t – she goes further in showing Cecily’s mix of innocence and wit. The scenes between her and Viola are especially good; they spark off each other and it lifts the whole play. She’s funny, and I realize I’ve only seen her be serious. It’s a bit of a shock. By the end of the play, I can’t imagine anyone else playing the part.

When everyone piles back to Del’s house that evening Alma is lifted on people’s shoulders. She’s toasted with champagne, and the earnest young man from the night before – still dressed all in black – throws his glass to the floor, smashing it into a million pieces, so that it may never be raised again to a lesser mortal.

Alma absorbs this quietly, graciously, but with a pucker of confusion between her brows.

“All I can think about is what I did wrong,” she whispers to me.

“You were wonderful,” I whisper back. “Let them tell you so.”

Instead of the expected pang of envy, all I feel is pride in my friend. I think about how much she was shaking before she went on, and the moment I saw her take her courage in her hands, straighten up and walk onstage, about how truly good she was. I realize – almost with surprise – that being happy for her, being impressed by her, doesn’t take anything away from my own attempts. Though it does make me want to be better, to push myself harder.

The party is the same as the night before, just as full of people and gossip and gin, only now people call me by name.