Page 8 of A Snowfall of Silver

“Yes, but now it’s part of my story,” I explain. “Now, my career begins with a daring act, taking my future into my own two hands, leaving behind provincial life in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, making a wild dash through darkest night towards the unknown…” I pause, considering. “Calling up my sister and coming for a visit doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.”

“Well, Midge and I agreed you could stay for two weeks,” Lou says easily. “I really do understand wanting to see a bit more of the world. The first time Caitlin brought me to London it felt like something I’d been looking for my whole life.”

“Two weeks!” I exclaim in dismay, cutting off this particular trip down memory lane. “But you don’t understand! I’ve run away from home! I’m never going back!”

Lou blinks at me. “What are you talking about?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m going to make it happen,” I say. “Do what I’ve always longed to do. Become an actress on the stage.”

There is a silence. “Freya,” Lou says, with a gentleness that immediately puts my back up. “You don’t just become an actress. It takes hard work; you can’t simply run away from home without a plan. Of course, if you want to move to London to pursue things at some point in the future, then I can help you. We can look at getting you some sort of work – secretarial college, perhaps…”

“Speaking of work, I’d better go,” Robert interjects.

“Coward,” Lou murmurs as he kisses her quickly on the cheek and makes his escape, lifting a hand in a friendly half-wave to me as he goes.

“But I’m good!” I say fiercely, ignoring all of this and returning to the matter at hand. “You know I am.”

“Of course you’re talented, Freya,” Lou says, still in that gentle voice. “But you can’t just turn up in London and declare yourself an actress. You need to be more practical. You haven’t got the first idea how any of it works.” She’s talking to me as if I was one of the triplets and I feel my temper rising.

Although I have read Sun Tzu’s The Art of War several times, and I know perfectly well that a hasty temper is a dangerous fault, it is one that I cannot seem to conquer altogether. And right now I feel a hot and righteous anger bubbling through me.

“That just goes to show what you know,” I hear myself say. “As it happens, I already have an audition lined up for tomorrow!”

I have the satisfaction of seeing Lou look stunned.

“Yes!” I say firmly. This will teach her to talk to me like I’m a child. “At the – the Queen Anne Theatre! They’re doing a touring production of The Importance of Being Earnest.”

“And you have an audition?” She is frowning in disbelief.

“Certainly,” I say calmly.

“Oh.” She is obviously nonplussed by this. “Well, that’s… I didn’t realize…”

“I know you didn’t.” I use my iciest tones. “Because you still think I’m a child. But you’ve been gone for two years now, Lou. Things have changed. I’ve changed.”

There’s a pause.

“You’re right,” she says at last, and I see a dawning respect in her eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re still my little sister, it’s hard to … but that’s wonderful news. Why don’t I show you up to your room, and then you can tell me all about it?”

“That would be nice,” I manage, but the electric pulse of anger has gone, leaving me hollow, and I feel an absolute worm listening to her apologize when I know I’ve told her a pack of lies.

How else could I get her to listen, though? I could hear it in her voice – the big sister voice. There was no way she was going to take me seriously even if I started talking about hard work and acting classes. Still, Lou is no fool and unless I start to come up with some actual auditions she’ll soon see through the lie. I think of Kit, and what he said about my being able to visit him at the Queen Anne Theatre. Maybe, just maybe, something will come of that, I think desperately. Maybe I can make something happen.

As Lou leads me up the white, winding staircase my heart thumps unhappily and one question rattles around and around inside my brain.

What have I done?

CHAPTER FIVE

After a good night’s sleep I am feeling much better. I am something of an optimist by nature, and I don’t tend to stay disheartened for long, I much prefer to think the best. I’m sure that everything will work out.

After all, ever since I was five years old, I’ve known that I wanted to move to London and become an actress. It’s a part of me, this vision of the future; it’s bone-deep, ingrained. It feels as if all of my life has been building towards this moment, and now that it’s here, nothing is going to stop me. It’s as inevitable as winter following on the heels of autumn. Of course I’ll make a success of it. Because I have to.

I have slept late, curled up under the blankets like a particularly satisfied dormouse, and it is almost midday already. The bedroom Lou showed me to yesterday is painted a cheerful yellow, and it is light and bright thanks to a large window that looks out on to the street. I allow myself a moment just to enjoy being here. There’s an old oak tree outside the window, and I can almost imagine that I’m living in its branches, among the ember-orange leaves. The bed is wide and piled with fluffy pillows and a slightly faded patchwork quilt that I recognize as being from Lou’s room in Cornwall. There’s a dressing table and a bookcase that holds worn old copies of children’s books – Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, Treasure Island. It’s comfortable here, safe and cosy. There’s even a very tiny bathroom just for me – a luxury I have never even dreamed of.

I wash, then dress and stand in front of the mirror to comb the tangles from my hair, still damp from washing it in Lou’s peppermint-scented shampoo. Lou was right when she said I look like Alice – though Alice is an absolute knock-out, and I am not exactly. My face is not quite as perfectly symmetrical as hers, my hair is not the same burnished gold, but a paler, more silvery blonde. I’m shorter, rounder, with less of Alice’s willowy grace. I have the same dark blue eyes, but not the dimples that Pa says could charm the birds from the trees. Still, I like my face. I like the soft roundness of my cheeks and the heart-shaped point of my chin. I like my mouth, even though it is perhaps a little too big. It has character. It is capable of expressing many things.

I turn one way and then the other, craning my neck to take in every angle of myself, before nodding in satisfaction at today’s wardrobe choice. Naturally, the Victorian street urchin costume was out, but last night, when I pulled the few crumpled frocks I had brought with me from Pa’s duffle bag, Lou had eyed them doubtfully and asked if they were really the thing for auditioning.