MISSED CALL: Persephone
MISSED CALL: Grandmother
MISSED CALL: Persephone
MISSED CALL: Persephone
MISSED CALL: Persephone
MISSED CALL: Grandmother
MISSED CALL: Noah
Mercy considers her narrative voice instantly recognisable so she rarely signs off her text messages. Blinking in confusion, I sit up abruptly in bed and stare at my alarm clock.
It’s 10am. I must have run so hard for so long yesterday that I managed to sleep through my alarm, my body clock, the birds outside, my phone going crazy. It’s flashing so hard it looks like it’s about to take off like a firework.
I roll over – the left side of my bed is crumpled and there’s black eyeliner smudged all over the pillow. Mercy must have fallen asleep and got up again without me even noticing.
Hair in a cloud, I grab my dressing gown and fly down the stairs with it streaming behind me like a fluffy cape.
‘Here she comes!’ Max appears cheerfully in the kitchen doorway, eating strawberry jam directly from the jar. ‘Faith Valentine. Megastar, icon, siren. A morning vision, complete with greasy forehead and a booger in her left nostril.’
Distractedly, I pick my nose and flick it away.
‘What’s happened?’ Alarmed, I grab my brother by the T-shirt. ‘Will you stop the persistent mockery and just tell me what’s happening?’
‘Don’t touch me with your crusty booger hand,’ he laughs, moving away. ‘You know, apparently people consider you vaguely attractive, Eff. A true mystery I cannot understand.’
I’m clearly getting no answers from my idiot brother so I turn to my remaining siblings. Po is impatiently bouncing up and down at the kitchen table – dimpled and glowing – and Mercy’s face is literally the stormiest I’ve ever seen it. You can practically see the dark thoughts skidding across it like clouds.
‘What?’ I stare at them. ‘What??!’
It’s extremely frustrating – I’m normally the one who actually knows what’s going on around me.
‘Oh my days!’ I shout to the ceiling. ‘WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHY MY PHONE IS ON FIRE!!!’
Beaming, Hope opens a newspaper. Then she dramatically lays it down with an elaborate flourish; opens another one and does the same; and another; and another. My face is plastered over all of them, except this time I’m not scowling. This time I don’t have food on my chin.
I’m poised, poreless – photoshopped to oblivion and Grandma-verified – and the headlines read:
VALENTINE FOR
ROLE OF THE DECADE
HAVE A LITTLE FAITH!
ICE QUEEN SET TO STAR
BRITISH BEAUTY PIPS
AMERICANS TO POST
I stare at them, eyes wide.
‘You did it!’ Hope jumps up and wraps her arms round my midriff. ‘You nailed your very first audition. Effie, I’m so proud I could rupturify on the spot. I knew you’d be a Hollywood star on the floor, and now you’re one step closer! After you’ve won your Best Newcomer Oscar, will you be in my debut film? Please? I promise there will be top-notch sandwiches.’
I glance at Mercy.
‘Well,’ she says darkly. ‘Genuine skill means nothing to the industry any more.’
‘Mercy.’ Max puts a protective hand on my shoulder. ‘For the love of unicorns, can you take a break from being a total monster? Just, like, five minutes to be happy for your little sister? Consider it a short recess. Give us a time-out so we can collectively regenerate.’
‘Fine.’ Mer scowls and stares at the table. ‘Well done, very exciting, what a well-deserved achievement, et cetera.’
My head feels like I’ve stuffed it with a cashmere sock.
‘I don’t understand.’ My voice sounds foggy. ‘What role? Are they talking about Fright Fortnight? But I screwed that audition up. They said I did. I heard them.’
‘You heard wrong,’ my brother says jubilantly, holding out his jam jar. ‘Sugar? For the shock?’
I pick up a tabloid and scan it.
Knockout stunner, Faith Valentine, is confirmed as front runner for ‘the biggest teen role ever’. ‘It’s huge,’ a source confirms. ‘Fright Fortnight had buzz, but this launches it to the next level.’
Daughter of A-lister Juliet Valentine and BAFTA-winning director Michael Rivers …
I scan faster. Yes, we know my pedigree, thank you. I’m not a dog at Crufts.
Hang on—
‘She’s a true talent,’ delighted boyfriend, Noah Anthony, confirms. ‘She thinks she’s a terrible actress! She worries she lacks what it takes. Crazy, right? Plus, she’s so beautiful. They’re lucky to have her.’
When did they speak to Noah?
‘I see your charming boyfriend is at it again,’ Mercy says sharply. ‘How sweet of him to have an opinion before you did.’
I frown at her – stop it – pick up my phone and hit DIAL.
‘Persephone?’ I turn away and stick a finger in my free ear so I can’t hear Max noisily flicking Mercy on the forehead. ‘Hi. Is this real? Did I get another audition?’
Crackle, crackle, crackle.
‘… yes.’ My agent is brusque. There’s an air of army sergeant about her: small talk permanently unwelcome. ‘Crackle – administrative error – crackle – final round – crackle – tomorrow morning. Crackle, crackle – details.’
The reception in this kitchen is truly terrible.
Holding my phone in the air, I try to climb in the gap between the fridge and the wall so I can hear Persephone better.
‘Yes,’ Po insists in the background. ‘I’m gonna film all the people I meet on my first day at school—’
‘But …’ I must have misunderstood the casting director. Did I hear a few key words and fill in the rest with my own negativity? ‘Do you really think I can—’
‘They’ve sent – crackle – different scene.’ Persephone hasn’t got time to stroke my ego. ‘Off-script – crackle – time to learn it.’
‘Actually, tonight is—’ I stop. ‘Sure. Of course.’
‘You’re not auditioning for buddies!’ Max is laughing at Po.
‘Of course I am,’ she indignantly replies. ‘How else will I know how they’ll work out when they star in the film of my life?’
Louder laughter. ‘Not enough bubble wrap, little sis.’
With a pointed glance over my shoulder – shhhhh – I tuck myself further into the fridge-gap.
‘… number of requests – crackle – interviews,’ Persephone is saying, ‘but – crackle – exclusive.’ A burst of phones ringing in the background. ‘So – crackle – with you in half an hour.’
My eyes widen in alarm. ‘Wait, what?’
‘Traffic depending.’
‘With me?’ I glance round the kitchen: there’s peanut butter on the floor. ‘In my house? Like, here?’
‘Yes. To see how you live – crackle— Inside track on Faith Valentine.’
My throat feels like it’s closing.
‘Ah. I—’
‘Faith, we can’t afford to pass this exposure up – crackle – you want to work in film. Formal profile pieces – crackle – right people pay attention. Just be yourself and the world’s your oyster.’
I open my mouth.
‘Got to go,’ Persephone concludes briskly. ‘Tom’s on the other line, you know what he’s like – crackle – later!’
The phone goes dead.