I think you’d love Soho – there’s loads of fringe theatres in the West End.
Greta: I’m gonna peel back this city’s juicy layers and take a big old bite out of it. Promise. Chat later!
By the time she’d taken the two Tube rides to get to her hotel, her adrenalin had leaked a bit. It didn’t help that the ten-minute walk to the hotel from the Tube turned into a twenty-minute hike because she turned right instead of left when she exited the station. Exhausted, she told herself that as everything was open so late in London, it made sense that she should take a short break to recharge. She’d been up since the crack of dawn and her stomach growled, reminding her that she’d not eaten since her breakfast. She popped into a Sainsbury’s Local on the way to the hotel to pick up some refreshments. With the audition going so well, surely she could treat herself to a celebration? Wine, cheese, crackers, chocolate and crisps. She threw in a bunch of grapes, an apple and a pear too, sorting her five a day. She’d snack, rest, then head to the West End early in the evening.
But when Greta got back to the hotel, the buzz of the audition had worn off replaced by all-too-familiar doubts creeping in. Greta sipped a glass of wine and munched on a bag of cheese and onion crisps, trying to switch off her brain to the constant buzz of the what-ifs. Would the sweating put them off? Or had she managed to turn the audition around with her reading? What were they whispering about when she delivered that final line? What if her five minutes of fame had happened when she was a child in that Christmas advert and that was it for her? This thought crippled her more than anything else. She simply could not imagine a world where she wasn’t an actress. The feeling of transformation when she played a role – sharing a character’s pain, happiness, fear or joy with an audience – was all consuming. Being someone else. Leaving Greta Gale behind. If she wasn’t an actress, then who or what was she? Over and over, the thoughts continued, until her eyes stung and her head pounded. She couldn’t ditch the feeling that time was running out for her. Her eyes stung with tiredness because she’d only managed a few hours’ sleep the night before. But yet her mind would not switch off. On and on it continued, telling her she wasn’t good enough. If she could just lose some weight, then maybe people would pay more attention to her? Maybe then she would be more than the fat girl with sweat patches under her arms. She disgusted herself, she couldn’t really blame anyone else for feeling the same way.
When had her life gone so pear-shaped? Then she noticed the green pear she’d bought earlier. Lying toppled on its side, wobbling on a round body. And she started to sob, because she didn’t want to be a pear any more.
Enough. Only one thing could ever silence her horrible, sad thoughts.
Greta opened her toiletry bag and pulled out her pack of sleeping tablets. She placed one onto her tongue, then washed it down with a glass of red. Then she broke a second one in half and popped that in too.
London could wait.
Greta was disorientated at first. She couldn’t remember where she was, and even though the room was pitch black, something about it felt wrong. Different. This wasn’t home. Then her brain clicked into gear, and her memory came back. She was in a hotel. In London. The sound of housekeeping banging on her hotel room door startled her, alerting her to the fact that it was well after eleven a.m., her checkout time. She pulled herself up to a sitting position and looked around the room in alarm. Strewn across the floor were empty packets of crisps and chocolate. She’d eaten all of this? She closed her eyes and tried to piece together the events of the previous evening. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep at about four in the afternoon. Nearly twelve hours previously. And she’d only eaten one bag of crisps before that. She was sure of that fact.
Something was slipping inside her; her control on the situation, on herself, on life. She was losing … she just wasn’t sure what that was yet. It must be jet lag, from the early flight.
She pushed aside the fact that there was no time zone change between Ireland and the UK. Her hands itched to find her bottle of tablets again. Had she taken another tablet during the night? Her rule of an occasional tablet to help with her insomnia and anxiety had somehow drifted to one every night these past few months …
She took a quick shower, dressed, packed her case and made her way to the airport. She noticed she had dozens of missed calls and messages from her family. A flurry of messages had come in from various Gales throughout the morning. Including a new text message from Aidan.
Aidan: Why do you have to be such a bitch? Just let Mam and Dad know you are alive.
Talk about going over the top. She wasn’t a seven-year-old. She was a grown woman!
Greta: Soz Mam and Dad. Did I nearly give you a heart attack with the worry? I’m such an eejit. I left my charger on the train yesterday and phone went dead. Had to buy a new one today. Hope you weren’t too worried. London is so much fun! Love it here. G x
That should quieten them all down. And she would even be magnanimous with Aidan when he apologized for his unnecessary comment. After all, it was hardly her fault she had no charge for her phone.
That was the thing with lies, when you told enough of them, they became easier to believe.
After traipsing through security, and feeling ravenous because she’d missed breakfast, she headed to Burger King for a Chicken Sandwich meal. An hour later she boarded her flight. The meal she’d eaten made her feel sluggish. She wished she could click her heels and be at home in her warm bed. Once she was buckled into her seatbelt, with the help of the extender strap, she thought about the half tablet from the night before. She scooped it out and swallowed it dry.
Hands gripped her shoulders, shaking her, hard. It hurt and Greta shrugged them off. A voice shouted in her ear, ‘Are you OK? Hello? Are you OK, miss?’
Greta opened her eyes and realized that her head was slumped against the aeroplane seat in front of her. She could feel the imprint of the table-top on her forehead. She looked around and saw that the plane was empty. They’d landed in Dublin and she couldn’t even remember taking off in Gatwick. Greta wiped away a line of drool that was making its way down her chin. Her face flamed as she felt a flush rush over her body, top to toe. Please don’t let me have done anything stupid.
‘It looked like you weren’t breathing there for a minute. I got quite a fright,’ the stewardess said.
‘What must you think of me? I’m so sorry. Honestly, I’m an eejit,’ Greta replied. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night; it must have caught up on me. Someone had a party in the room next door to me in my hotel. It kept me awake all night.’
‘I thought you were dead.’
Greta put her two hands up and did her best zombie impression. ‘I feel a bit like the walking dead, for sure.’ Greta unclipped her belt. The stewardess looked unsure. Greta wanted to get off the plane and away from her probing eyes and questions. She’d been stupid to take a pill when on public transport. Rookie error. She needed to be more careful. And as Greta made her way through the arrivals hall, that new feeling joined the regular residents of shame and embarrassment that lived inside her these days. She was scared. But she didn’t have time to analyse that because her mother was waiting for her, smiling, eyes bright with expectation. Emily opened her arms to welcome her daughter home.
‘All OK, love?’
Greta could still feel the imprint of the hard seat on her forehead, where she’d slumped for the one-hour flight. But she pushed that away and gushed, ‘Mam, London was amazeballs. Honestly, we have to go together soon! The view from the London Eye is incredible. It made me quite emotional, took my breath away.’
‘You wouldn’t get me up into one of those things! Look at you, all flushed with excitement from the trip!’
Greta thought about the too-small seatbelts, the sweating and the blackouts. ‘It’s been so much fun. And they loved me in the audition. Nailed