Moon Pie (23 page)

At exactly the same time as Martha was thinking this, Grandpa’s car was pulling up again outside Marcus’s house. He had left his glasses behind.

He knocked at the door and waited.

When Mrs Brown opened it she stared at him in surprise.

‘You’ve missed them,’ she said, ‘They’ve gone already. He came for them just after you left.’

It was Grandpa’s turn to look bewildered. ‘He?’

‘Mr Luna.’

‘Mr Luna?’

‘To take them to the audition. History is being made,’ she added proudly.

Grandpa’s face fell into an unusual shape.

Twenty minutes later, when he got back home (rather breathless), it was Grandma’s turn to be bewildered. Her bewilderment was brief, however. It was immediately replaced by righteous anger.

‘I was right to be suspicious. Saturday morning rehearsals indeed. He has abducted them. Get me the number of the Social Services. Also his probation officer. And get the car out,’ she called after Grandpa as he hurried from the room. ‘We set off at once.’

It was a long wait in the performers’ room, but Dad got them all drinks from the vending machine, and Laura had lots of good solid advice (‘Relax, it’s only bloody Hollywood,’) and Tug drew an interesting
picture of what he thought the canteen would look like, and Marcus kept them entertained with a long soliloquy about the Golden Age of Hollywood Costumiers.

At last Martha’s name was called.

‘This is it,’ Dad said.

They crowded round her one last time, wishing her luck, then she took her ugly dress and her other things, and walked away from them, out of the room.

Dad sighed and looked at his watch. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Now we wait a bit more. Any questions?’

Tug wanted to know where the canteen was.

‘Later, Tug.’

‘Isn’t it lunch time?’

‘We have to have a late lunch today. It’s OK, the canteen stays open. Any other questions?’

Marcus wanted to know if they could watch the audition.

The auditions manager said it wasn’t allowed, but Dad had an idea. ‘If we go into the director’s box for the studio next to the audition room, we could watch her as she goes in. I’ve got a security pass. What do you think? That might be nice, just to see what she looks like with her hair done and everything. And you’ll have a chance to look round the director’s box.’

The auditions manager said it was OK and, a little while later, Dad led them out of the hall and along various corridors until they came to a door marked D
IRECTOR
.

‘Here we are,’ he said.

He swiped his card and they went in.

It was a small technical-looking room filled with computers, screens and control panels. Down one side of it there was a long window looking out onto a large, square room hung with spotlights and set up with cameras.

‘A Sony HDW-750P!’ Laura said.

‘The control centre!’ Marcus said.

‘Buttons!’ said Tug.

Dad explained that the window was a mirror on the other side, so that what happened in the director’s box didn’t disturb the actors out in the studio. It was sound-proofed too. He pointed through the window. ‘The audition room’s on the far side of the studio, through that door over there. We’ll be able to see Martha as she goes across. Tug,’ he added, ‘don’t push the buttons.’

‘This is where it happens,’ Marcus murmured to Laura. ‘This is where the power resides. I can feel it.’

They were so busy looking at everything that they
didn’t realize what time it was until they heard footsteps in the corridor outside. Dad looked at his watch.

‘Quarter past already,’ he said. ‘She must be about to go in. Quick!’

They crowded to the window to get the best view of her.

But no one came into the studio. Instead, the door behind them was suddenly flung open, and Grandma and Grandpa burst into the director’s box, followed by Alison from the Social Services and the auditions manager.

‘Just as I told you!’ Grandma cried. And there was a commotion.

Tug had seen Grandma angry before so he wasn’t surprised. But Marcus was.

‘Dear lady,’ he said, putting a hand on her arm. ‘She hasn’t gone in yet. You’re just in time to see her.’

‘Don’t touch me, you degenerate,’ she said. ‘I’m here to stop her.’

Tug watched them all arguing. Alison from Social Services was telling Dad something about the penalties for court order violation, and Dad was asking Grandma to please, please just listen to him, and Grandpa was looking for his glasses which he had
dropped, and Marcus was muttering ‘Degenerate? Degenerate?’ in a half-shocked, half-pleased sort of way; and in general everyone was speaking and no one was listening, and the noise grew louder and louder until in the end Tug had to get up on the desk and shout to make himself heard.

‘Quiet!’ he shouted, and everyone stopped to look at him.

‘There she is!’ he said, pointing.

At exactly the same moment they all turned to look out of the window, and no one spoke as they watched Martha in the studio beyond.

She was on her own, and she walked with slow, quiet steps, head up, from one side of the studio to the other. She was wearing Marcus’s brilliantly ugly dress, and the braids of her hair shone, and as she pointed her small nose from side to side, looking about her, she seemed brave and hopeful and very nervous all at once. At the door to the audition room she paused and seemed to give a little sigh of determination. Then she knocked and went in, and shut the door behind her.

There was silence in the director’s box.

‘My little girl,’ Grandma said in a broken voice.

They all turned to look at her. She was holding on
to Grandpa, and her face was white. ‘Just the same,’ she whispered.

‘I know,’ Grandpa said.

‘The same look on her face.’

‘Hush,’ he said. ‘Don’t cry.’

Dad took Grandma’s hand. ‘She would have been so proud of her,’ he said. ‘Won’t you let her audition?’

And Grandma nodded.

L
ater that afternoon all the families were waiting in the performers’ room for the candidates to return from the audition office, where they had been called to hear the director’s verdicts.

One by one they came back in, each holding an envelope. The murmur of voices steadily grew. There were some tears. People began to leave.

Still Martha didn’t appear.

Everyone was tense. ‘Dad?’

Tug whispered.

‘What?’

‘I’m still wondering where the canteen is.’

‘Not now, Tug.’

‘I’m wondering very hard.’

‘In a minute.’

Finally she came.

They all fell silent as she joined them. She stood there for a moment looking at their expectant faces – Dad and Tug, Marcus and Laura,
Grandma and Grandpa – and smiled.

It was a brave smile.

‘I didn’t get it,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’

They all began to talk at once, and Martha could hear herself saying, ‘It’s OK, I don’t mind.’

But the truth was, she did. It surprised her, how much she minded. She hadn’t even expected to get the part.

Everyone crowded round her talking, but she wasn’t listening. She was lost in her own thoughts. It felt to her as if she’d failed again. Suddenly she didn’t think that Mum would have been proud of her. She thought that she’d let down Marcus and Laura, and she was worried that Grandma was going to be very cross, and she was frightened that Dad was going to get into trouble for helping her. Worst of all, she felt sorry for herself, she couldn’t help it.

Ordinarily, she was good at controlling herself. But somehow she couldn’t do it any more. After all the times in the last two years she’d managed to keep her head, it seemed such a small, selfish thing to make her upset now. It was as if all the emotions she’d pushed down inside her for so long were rising up, and she couldn’t stop them. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she started to gulp. There was no possibility now of
keeping her head. No possibility of closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, of making a list and carrying on as normal. Her chin began to tremble and her hands began to shake, and she turned to Dad to be comforted.

But Dad wasn’t there.

She looked round, confused. He’d promised he’d be there whenever she needed him.

‘Tug?’ she said.

At first Tug wasn’t there either. Then she saw him sidle in through the door at the far side of the room, and she left the others and ran over to him.

‘Where have you been, Tug? Where’s Dad?’

‘He went, Martha.’

‘Where did he go?’

‘Not to the canteen,’ Tug said sadly.

She was confused.

‘I thought he was going to the canteen,’ Tug said. ‘That’s why I followed him. But he went to that other place.’

‘What other place?’

Tug tried to remember its name. ‘The bar,’ he said at last.

Martha flinched. ‘The bar?’

‘He said he couldn’t wait, Martha.’

Now she wasn’t crying any more. She stood there, breathing heavily. Her eyes were bright and fierce, and her heart was pounding.

‘What did he look like, Tug, when he said he was going to the bar?’

‘A bit … strange.’

‘What about his face? Was it pale and shiny?’ Tug nodded.

‘And his hands? Did he run them through his hair?’

He nodded again. He peered at Martha timidly. ‘Are you all right, Martha? Your face is very red.’

Her face felt red. And her lungs felt as if they were about to burst. ‘I trusted him!’ she said. ‘I’ll
never
trust him again!’ She glared at Tug so fiercely he shrank away from her. ‘Do you remember the way to the bar?’

He nodded fearfully.

‘Take me. Quickly!’

The staff bar – Cheers! – was on the second floor, next to the New Moon Café canteen. In a corner booth, Dad was sitting talking to the director of
Anne of Green Gables
. Luckily he had known where to find him. They had met once before, a few years earlier, and when Dad came running up and introduced
himself again, the director remembered him and said he was happy to talk about the auditioning.

He was a big, sensible man with a suntan, and he was drinking a glass of Californian Pinot Noir, which he said reminded him of home, while Dad sipped a cup of tea.

‘You want to know why we didn’t offer her the part?’

‘I’d just like to give her some feedback. She’s my daughter, I know, but I think she’s got something special, and she’s so thoughtful and bright she’d listen to any advice you might have. I can’t stay long.’ He looked anxiously at his watch. ‘I have to get back to her.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you straight,’ the director said. ‘When I first saw her I thought we had it all sewn up. Wow, the kid can act. You know that. Looks just right too. She did a piece from early on in the book, where Anne imagines all the fancy stuff in the room. Stunning. Best performance I’ve seen. Knockout, really. But the second piece didn’t work out so well.’

‘Which piece was that?’

‘One of the tantrum scenes. A real stamper and shouter. I don’t know why it didn’t work, but it didn’t. Technically, she was superb. But I couldn’t feel the
emotion. It wasn’t coming through. And, you know, those scenes are real important to the book. That fierceness of spirit – it’s who Anne is. I’m looking for someone who can really let rip when she needs to.’

It was at that moment that Martha appeared. Still wearing her ugly dress of yellowish-grey wincey, her face tear-streaked and furious, she came up to the side of the booth at speed and, without pausing to look round, addressed Dad in a loud voice.

‘You couldn’t wait? You couldn’t wait to start drinking again?’

Startled, Dad made an attempt to introduce the director, but Martha cut him off.

‘I believed you when you told me you’d stopped. I won’t ever believe you again. Not ever! What would Mum think of you? What will Tug think of you when he’s bigger? As soon as things go wrong, you give up. What are you going to do – kill yourself, like Laura’s dad?’

Very embarrassed, Dad attempted again to explain.

‘I hate you!’ she shouted. ‘I hate you! You lied to me. And you lied to yourself. You’re a coward and a cheat.’

‘Martha,’ Dad began, very red in the face.

‘Do you think
I
don’t want to give up sometimes?’
she shouted at him. ‘I tried to look after Tug, and I tried to help you, and I worked as hard as I could to audition for that part so that Mum could have been pleased with
something
I did. And nothing went right, ever. I feel so bad I could cry. But I’m not going to. Because now I know something. It’s better to try and fail than give up, like you do, running away and coming in here just so you could drink
that
!’

And she pointed dramatically at the glass in his hand.

And realized at once that it wasn’t a glass, but a teacup.

And anyway ran out of breath, and stood there with fierce, confused eyes, gasping.

And the director, whom she hadn’t even noticed until then, stood up – he was a very big man, very suntanned, and it gave her a real shock to see him there – and put out his big hand. Without thinking she shook it as politely as she could, still panting, with her face all wet and red.

‘Congratulations, Miss Luna,’ he said. ‘You’ve got the part.’

I
t was 2.30 p.m., and they were all sitting together in the New Moon Café: Martha, Tug, Dad, Marcus, Laura, Grandma, Grandpa, Alison and the big Californian director.

The New Moon Café was the television studio’s staff canteen. It was friendly and smart, with white tables and red chairs, and lights with pretty green shades. In the serving area at the far end there were glass-fronted display cabinets full of hot and cold food, and fridges with desserts and drinks in them, and on the walls above were menus advertising specials: pasta dishes, salads and different sorts of pie.

Looking round, Martha noticed the moon theme. There were jaunty little moons on the napkins, and bouncing moons round the lampshades, and moons on the doors, and the menus, and the backs of the seats. Round the walls were large framed cartoons of moons. There was a man in the moon drinking a milkshake from a straw, and a dish and spoon
jumping over the moon. And, in the corner, there was a big slice of moon pie served up on a plate.