Dot (Araminta Hall)

prolonged the floating, buzzing sensation she had so enjoyed on stage. After one glass she said her goodbyes and set off, but Mr Jenkins ran after her and took her arm and made her promise to come and see him the next day so he could tell her which drama schools to apply for and even help her make the calls. She promised that she would, her mother’s words of encouragement ringing in her ears.
    Clarice was in bed when she got home and so she made herself a sandwich and took it upstairs with her, where she spent the night dreaming about larger and larger stages and a deeper and deeper blackness. She woke up happier than she could ever remember feeling and tripped down to breakfast. Clarice was already sitting at the head of the table, buttering her toast.
    ‘Morning, Alice.’
    ‘Morning, Clarice.’
    Alice set to work on her own toast, her legs itching to get to Mr Jenkins.
    ‘So, now that’s over then,’ said Clarice, her gaze resting over Alice’s head and travelling into the garden where Peter, the gardener, was already working.
    ‘What’s over?’
    ‘Your little play.’
    ‘Oh, well, yes.’
    ‘I got you this.’ Clarice slid a white sheet of paper over the table to Alice. It looked like an application form and for a moment Alice’s heart contracted with the unexpectedness of life. Before this minute everything had been over in such short fleeting moments of time, tiny seconds which amounted to nothing, but here was a chance to live a life she understood. She joined the letters on the paper in front of her and saw the words ‘Cartertown Secretarial College, Diploma in Typing’.
    ‘But …’ she started.
    ‘I think it’s for the best, don’t you?’ said Clarice and she really was smiling. She wasn’t some wicked witch in a fairy tale, she genuinely believed that this was the best thing Alice could do. Alice saw all of that, she knew it and yet she also knew that she was wrong, wrong beyond measure. She opened her mouth to speak, but found that she wasn’t in possession of the right words to make her mother understand any of this. ‘I think we both know that being an actress is a bit of fantasy for someone like you. Not that you weren’t brilliant, Alice, but it’s such a tough world and you are so, so delicate. You would be gobbled up in a day by all those people. They run a summer course, it starts in three weeks.’ Alice nodded, tears blocking her throat. ‘And there’ll be other village-hall productions. Mr Jenkins isn’t going anywhere.’
    And nor am I, thought Alice, as she took her pen and started to fill in her details.
    Cartertown College of Further Education was as terrible as Alice had feared. None of the other girls spoke to her, as girls had never done. She knew that everything about her was wrong: she didn’t listen to pop music or wear make-up or giggle about boys and, worst of all, she knew she was extremely pretty. She wasn’t being big-headed; in fact if she’d had the choice she would have been plain: plain meant you could keep your head down and men didn’t stare and women didn’t sneer. Pretty was, in essence, nothing more than a genetic coincidence that had arranged itself in a pleasing way, which was totally baffling when you thought about it. Alice after all had the same features as everyone else and yet they appeared so much more appealing on her.
    The time passed as slowly as she’d ever known it. She read books written hundreds of years ago on the hour-long bus journey to and from Cartertown every day, she failed to place her fingers on the right keys in class and ate her lunch alone in a corner of the cafeteria. But it was only a twelve-week course and so she told her mother it was fine and devised plans about how she could get a secretarial job in London when it was over and pay her own way through drama school.
    Then she met Tony. She left college at the same time every day, knowing that if she kept up a good pace she would make the 4.10 bus. She crossed the road in the same place as usual and just as she was about to step up onto the kerb, a heavy foot landed right in front of her, nearly tripping her up. She turned her head upwards and he was smiling down at her, his long hair blowing across his face. ‘Sorry, love,’ he said, ‘I was just stubbing out my fag and you came out of nowhere.’ He laughed.
    She opened her mouth to speak but no words seemed adequate.
    He laughed again. ‘How about I buy you a drink to say sorry?’
    Alice nodded