A Desirable Residence - By Madeleine Wickham Page 0,96

in time to see Piers enter the house, not with the triumphant swagger of success, but quietly; almost deferentially. A disastrous pounding began in her chest.

‘Well?’ she almost shouted. Piers looked up at her and gave an eloquent shrug. ‘What? They still haven’t told you?’

‘They’re going to phone tonight,’ said Piers. ‘At least, that’s what they said.’

Ginny stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I need a drink,’ said Piers. ‘Is there any gin?’

‘In the kitchen,’ said Ginny. She looked at her watch. ‘Shit. I’ve still got to do my hair.’

She nevertheless followed Piers anxiously into the kitchen, watching him as he poured out a large gin and tonic; shaking her head when he offered her some. He cracked a couple of ice-cubes into the glass, then took a large swig. He took another. Then he wiped his mouth.

‘Bastards,’ he said.

‘What?’ A painful stab of panic went through Ginny’s chest. She stared at Piers, nervously twisting a stray strand of hair round and round in her fingers. ‘What did they do?’

‘It wasn’t just me auditioning,’ said Piers.

‘What?’

‘There were three of us. We had to go on one after another. They wanted to be able to compare us easily, they said.’ Piers’s voice held mocking scorn. Ginny looked at him blankly.

‘I thought it was just you.’

‘So did I. So did the others.’ Ginny’s heart began to thud.

‘And what were the others like?’ she asked, trying not to sound too urgent.

‘One of them looked a bit like Ian Everitt. He was called Sean something. The other one was a bit of a wimp. Fresh out of drama school, I think.’

‘Did you see them auditioning?’

‘No, thank God. At least we didn’t have to watch each other.’ But then at least you’d know what the others were like, thought Ginny impatiently.

‘And then what happened?’

‘Well, it was a bit strange. We’d all done our bits, and we were sitting in the waiting-room.’ Piers took a final swig, and poured himself another drink. He cast his mind back to the scene; the unbearable tension between the three of them; the false smiles and idle, distracting pieces of gossip.

‘And then,’ he said, ‘Alan Tinker came in, and asked Sean to come back and do another little bit. And he told me and the other bloke to go.’ A dead weight dropped to the bottom of Ginny’s stomach. ‘But then he said,’ added Piers, ‘that we mustn’t read anything into it. And that they’d let us all know this evening.’ He scowled, and took another huge gulp of gin. Alan Tinker’s voice floated back into his mind. Now, don’t get alarmed, you two. Don’t think this means we’re rejecting you. And he’d smiled at them both. Had he smiled especially hard at Piers? Piers couldn’t tell.

‘Oh God.’ Ginny sank into a chair. ‘I don’t believe it. Why would they have wanted to see the other guy again?’

‘I don’t know.’ Piers looked at her with dark, unhappy eyes. ‘I asked myself that all the way home. Were they just bullshitting me? Have they given it to him?’

‘Well, if they have,’ said Ginny indignantly, ‘why couldn’t they have just told you on the spot?’

‘God knows. The bastards. Oh Christ!’ Suddenly he crashed his glass down on the table. ‘This fucking audition’s been hanging over me for months. I just want to fucking well know!’ Ginny looked at her watch.

‘Did they say when they’d phone?’ Piers shook his head.

‘Of course they didn’t,’ he said sarcastically. Ginny looked at his taut face.

‘What do you really think?’ she said carefully. It almost killed her to say it. ‘Do you think they gave it to the other guy?’ Piers shrugged. He didn’t want to think about it.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I really don’t know.’ He looked up at Ginny and forced himself to smile. ‘You look great,’ he said. ‘I’d better start getting ready for the party, I suppose.’ Ginny smiled back and took his hand. Inside her, a heavy misery battled with a piercing, desperate hope. It was unbearable. She felt drawn-in, unable to face the outside world. What’s the point of having this stupid party? she thought. What’s the point of it all now?

Liz had told Alice at tea-time that if she liked, she would do her hair and make-up for her. And Alice, who felt rather unwilling to go back and face Ginny after the coffee episode, had eventually agreed. Now she sat on her mother’s bed, feeling the soft brushes and pencils tickling her face, telling herself that if it