Page 36 of A Snowfall of Silver

They keep talking about people I don’t know, in that funny, coded way. Alma smiles politely.

Kit and Viola return, and behind them comes a barmaid with steaming plates of fish and chips. We fall on the food, snatching at the hot, greasy chips. I lick salt from my fingers and take a swig of my drink as I relax against the battered red leather seat that smells sweetly of tobacco.

“This is so good.” Russ pats his stomach. “Nora’s going to be taking out all my trousers by the end of the week.”

“Do you remember last summer, when I stomped on my hem and tore that dress onstage?” Viola asks.

“It made that awful loud ripping noise, and you were so into your performance you barely noticed,” Kit chuckles. “The audience thought it was part of the scene.”

“And then I came off and Nora drew herself up like the Queen of Hearts, about to order my beheading!” Her eyes dance, and she leans back against her chair. “I thought I was going to get such a scolding. But before she could get going I told her I’d stay behind and sew it up myself.”

“Which you never thought she’d agree to.” Kit takes a swig of his beer.

Viola grins at him. “But she called my bluff and stood over me while I tried to mend the wretched thing with stitches like great gap-teeth because I’m so useless. I thought she was going to make me wear it, but the next night of course the dress was perfect, and she’d taken all my hems up. She’s not let me wear anything the least bit trailing since.”

She laughs, and her laughter is genuine, infectious. We all join in. That’s the thing with Viola, she’s mercurial. She can be cold and sulky, but she can be so charming too. You never quite know what you’re going to get with her.

The conversation around the table turns to other things, including the new Frankenstein film that everyone’s been talking about. The pub is warm and I’m starting to feel sleepy.

“Film is the future,” Viola says, her eyes glowing. “Hollywood, that’s where I’m going. That’s where we should all be aiming for.”

“Don’t let Rhys Cantwell hear you say that,” Russ says.

Dan makes a murmur of agreement. “Chewed him up and spat him out, the poor old darling.”

“I don’t think film could beat the theatre, though, could it?” I ask. “Acting in front of a real-life audience…”

“And what would you know about that?” Viola asks dismissively. “When you’ve never acted in front of an audience before?”

“No, but I’ve been there when you do,” I point out. “It’s like there’s something electric snapping between you and them.”

“That’s because I’m good,” Viola says, not boastful, merely dispensing facts.

“And I suppose I’m not?” I throw the words down like a gauntlet, trying to fake a confidence I don’t feel.

“I’m sure that’s not—” Alma begins.

“Well, I don’t think we’re doing her any favours pretending she’s a real talent,” Viola breaks in, tilting her chin up. “It’s ridiculous having someone so inexperienced as an understudy. I can’t understand why Mr Cantwell fusses over her.” She shoots me a look that is not one of dislike so much as one of perplexity. “If you want my advice you should stick to costumes.” She jumps to her feet then and throws some coins on to the table. “I’m going back,” she says. “Some of us have a performance tomorrow.”

We sit in silence while she leaves. Then Kit says awkwardly, “Don’t let her bother you, Freya.” He rubs his forehead in a tired gesture. I notice that his fingers are flecked with black ink stains. “Tensions always start running high this far into the tour.”

The others murmur in agreement, and gently return to a discussion of America and the opportunities it might offer.

I stare down into my drink as they chatter. Maybe Viola just said what they are all thinking. That I’ll never be any good, no matter how hard I work.

I can hear the blood pumping through me, the dull thump of my heartbeat as I wrestle with a feeling that threatens to overwhelm me.

Then I straighten my spine. Viola is wrong. I’ll be onstage one day, and when I am, she’ll eat her words. I’ll make sure of it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I spend the following day trying very hard to stay busy and not to think of Viola’s words, words that struck at some deeply vulnerable part of me. Fortunately, this evening is my dinner with Russ, which provides an excellent distraction. I feel strange about it – a little nervous, a little excited. I have already decided to throw myself into it, the romance of it all. Russ is practically a paper cut-out of the perfect man, and so – for tonight, at least – I will be the perfect girl on his arm. Perhaps I’ll get swept up in the feelings that dominate so many of my favourite stories – the passion, the desire, the soul-searing connection between two people. I can give it a go, at least.

After the performance, my head full of kisses and whirling music, I head to the wardrobe closet to get changed, and I find Nora there waiting for me.

“I hear you have a big evening planned,” she says.

“I don’t know about that,” I reply. “After all, Russ is the one doing the planning.”