“Who? Here, give me that.”

Da plucked the letter from my fingers and scanned it, frowning.

“George Bunniford,” I repeated. “He’s the man who came to make the newsreel film of the parade. You remember, Da, don’t you?”

“Of course I remember.” His frown lessened as he read on. “Well, I must say he’s polite. Was he the tall one or the short one?”

“The short one,” put in Frank, who was sitting on the stool by the back door, taking a long time to polish his boots. “The tall one was Preston, the camera operator. Bunniford was the director.”

“Mister Bunniford to you, boy!” The corners of Da’s mouth turned downwards, and he nodded approvingly at the page. “Director!”

“Can I go, then?” I asked him, as patiently as I could. “Can I go to Middlesex, like he says, and be in a film?”

“Whoa there, girl!” said Da. “He does not say anything about you being in a film, now, does he?” He squinted at the writing and began to read aloud the paragraph that had almost stopped my heart. “Your recent newsreel appearance was seen by the notable film producer and director, David Penn. He has requested that I invite you to attend a screen test at Shepperton Studios, Middlesex, as soon as is convenient.” Da looked at me over the top of the page. “And where might Middlesex be? I thought they made films in London.”

“It’s near London,” said Frank. “It’s where the film studios are, like it says.”

Da did not look convinced. “As you are under twenty-one years old,” he read on, “would you please seek permission from your parents. If they are agreeable, I would be grateful if they would sign the enclosed form and send it back to me at the above address. I remain, Miss Freebody, your humble servant, George Bunniford, Newsreel Director.”

“A screen test is a sort of audition,” I ventured.

“I know what a screen test is.” Da gestured with the letter towards Frank. “Living with you and this boy, with your film magazines and whatnot, Mam and I can’t help knowing more than we want to about the whole daft business.”

“It’s not daft, Da!” Frank’s flushed face looked up from his polishing. “If Sarah was in the films, we’d be rich! We could live in America, and I could have a motorcycle, or even a motor car!”

Da chuckled and tossed the letter back to me. “Ask Mam. She’ll know what’s best.”

I went and kissed the top of his head. Ask Mam was halfway to yes.