script.
‘What do you think, Alice?’ he said, looking up as she came round the side of the house. ‘Could I get a part in Summer Street? I think I’ll be . . .’ he glanced at the page ‘. . . I’ll be Muriel the grandmother. She’s got some tremendous lines. Listen to this, “Oh, Rupert, when will you ever take life seriously?” ’ He clasped his hands and looked skywards. Alice giggled.
‘Shut up, Duncan,’ Piers said lazily. ‘Chuck it here.’
‘It’s the script for Piers’s audition,’ explained Ginny, as they went inside to get the coffee pot and a mug for Alice. ‘It arrived this morning.’ She grinned at Alice and, as they entered the kitchen, gave the excited skip she had not permitted herself in front of Piers.
‘Wow!’ exclaimed Alice, with gratifying awe. ‘Is it a real script? Like on the telly?’
‘Yes,’ said Ginny, beaming. ‘Just the same.’
‘That’s so cool!’ said Alice. ‘I wish I had one.’
‘I know,’ said Ginny. ‘I’m going to keep it afterwards, and leave it around on the coffee table. Whatever happens.’
‘But Piers will get the part,’ said Alice, with a surprised conviction. Ginny turned round. Her eyes were sparkling.
‘I know he will,’ she said. She hugged herself. ‘I know he will. I can’t wait.’
They had gone back into the garden, warmed by a shared enthusiasm, to find Piers standing up and Duncan throwing his coffee dregs into the flower-bed.
‘Christmas shopping!’ he announced. ‘Come on, Alice, I bet you haven’t got my present yet, have you?’ He gave her a penetrating stare and she giggled and blushed.
‘Not yet,’ protested Ginny. ‘I’ve got things to do first.’
‘Well, hurry up!’ said Duncan. He clapped his hands. ‘We can’t sit around all day drinking coffee, you know!’
Eventually they managed to leave the house, Ginny still complaining loudly at Duncan. But Alice could tell Ginny wasn’t really cross with him. She seemed too happy to be cross. Everybody seemed happy. And Alice felt especially happy. She was sandwiched cosily between Piers and Duncan, and, as they all strode energetically along towards the town centre, she felt as though it was their steps which were moving her along; as though she wasn’t having to make any effort at walking herself. She felt cushioned from the cold air, cushioned from the rest of the world, with these tall male figures either side of her. Or at least, she amended in her mind, one tall figure and one stocky figure. She knew Duncan didn’t mind being called stocky. In fact he quite liked it; he’d once been called ‘stocky and appealing’ in a review in The Scotsman.
But Duncan wasn’t the point. It was Piers. It was the fact that she was walking along the road, right next to Piers. She was so close to him that she could feel his jacket through her sleeve, and smell his aftershave, and when they turned the corner a squirm of delight went through her as he put a guiding hand on her arm.
As they turned into Market Square, though, her heart gave a squirm of a different sort. Piling into the square, at the far corner, were the leaders of a bright, noisy, jolly crowd which, she knew, was the ECO parade. She couldn’t see her father, but he would be there somewhere. Dressed in some crappy bird mask, handing out leaflets, being all worthy. She would die if they met him.
She looked distractedly around the square, trying to think of some reason for them to leave. But it was difficult. All the main shops were around the square, as well as Duncan’s favourite coffee shop. She could see him eyeing it already. And at any moment now, he would notice the parade. She couldn’t bear it.
‘Which shops are we going to?’ she began, in an unnaturally high voice. But it was too late.
‘Look!’ Duncan’s voice rang out above hers. ‘Look over there! Who are all those people?’ Everyone followed his gaze. Alice scanned the crowd nervously for her father’s slight figure.
‘Let’s go and have a look,’ said Ginny. ‘It looks like a demonstration.’
‘In Silchester?’ said Duncan, in mock-surprise. ‘My dear!’ He looked up at Piers, whose expression was distantly blank, and gave him a nudge with his elbow. ‘Wake up, love,’ he said. ‘Stop thinking about Summer Street.’
‘I’m not,’ said Piers irritably. ‘I wish everyone would stop going on about it.’ He directed a frown at Ginny and she went pink.
‘Come on,’ she said hastily. ‘Let’s go over and see what’s going on.’
As they