I Know Who You Are(10)

“I was thrilled.” I realize I don’t sound it.

“This role has you playing a married woman who pretends to be nice, but in reality has done some pretty horrific things. Was it a challenge to take on the part of someone so … damaged? Were you worried that the audience wouldn’t like her once they knew what she’d done?”

“I’m not sure we want to give away the twist in any preview pieces.”

“Of course, my apologies. You mentioned your husband earlier…”

I’m pretty sure I didn’t.

“How does he feel about this role? Has he started sleeping in the spare room in case you come home still in character?”

I laugh, hoping it sounds genuine. I start to wonder if Ben and Jennifer Jones might know each other. They both work for TBN, but in very different departments. It’s one of the world’s biggest media companies, so it has never occurred to me that their paths might have crossed. Besides, Ben knows how much I hate this woman, he would have mentioned it if he knew her.

“I don’t tend to answer personal questions, but I don’t think my husband would mind me saying he’s really looking forward to this film.”

“He sounds like the perfect partner.”

I worry about what my face might be doing now and focus all of my attention on reminding it to smile. What if she does know him? What if he told her that I’d asked for a divorce? What if that’s why she’s really here? What if they are working together to hurt me? I’m being paranoid. It will be over soon. Just smile and nod. Smile and nod.

“You’re not like her then, the main character in Sometimes I Kill?” she asks, raising an overplucked eyebrow in my direction and peering at me over her notepad.

“Me? Oh, no. I don’t even kill spiders.”

Her smile looks as if it might break her face. “The character you’re playing tends to run away from reality. Was that something you found easy to relate to?”

Yes. I’ve spent a lifetime running away.

A knock at the door saves me. I’m needed on set.

“I’m so sorry, I think that might be all we have time for, but it’s been lovely to see you,” I lie. My phone vibrates with a text as she packs up her things and leaves my dressing room. I take it out as soon as I’m alone again and read the message.

Tony: We need to talk, call me when you can. And no, I didn’t arrange or agree to any interviews, so tell them to bugger off. Don’t speak to any journalists before speaking to me for the time being, no matter what they say.

I feel as if I might cry.





Six


Galway, 1987

“There now, why are you spoiling that pretty face with all those ugly tears?”

I look up to see a woman smiling down at me outside the closed shop. I ran all the way here after my brother shouted at me. All I wanted was to look at the red shoes I thought someone might buy me for my birthday this year, but they’re gone from the window. Some other little girl is wearing them, a little girl with a proper family and pretty shoes.

“Have you lost your mummy?” the woman asks.

I start to cry all over again. She takes a crumpled tissue from the sleeve of her white knitted cardigan, and I wipe my eyes. She’s very pretty. She has long dark curly hair, a bit like mine, and big green eyes that forget to blink. She’s a bit older than my brother, but much younger than my daddy. Her dress is covered in pink and white flowers, as if she were wearing a meadow, and she is the spit of how I imagine my mummy would have looked. If I hadn’t killed her with a wrong turn. I blow my nose and hand back the snotty rag.

“Well now, don’t you be worrying yourself, worrying never solved anything. I’m sure we can find your mummy.” I don’t know how to tell her that we can’t. She holds out her hand, and I see that her nails are the same color red as the shoes I wish were mine. She waits for me to hold it, and when I don’t, she bends down, until her face is level with my own.

“Now, I know you’ve probably been told not to talk to strangers, and that there are some bad people in the world, and that’s good if you have, because it’s true. But that’s also why I can’t leave you here on your own. It’s getting late, the shops are closed, the streets are empty, and if something were to happen to you, well, I’d never forgive myself. My name is Maggie, what’s yours?”

“Ciara.”

“Hello, Ciara. It’s nice to meet you.” She shakes my hand. “There, now we’re not strangers anymore.” I smile; she’s funny and I like her. “So, why don’t you come with me, and if we can’t find your mummy, we can call the police and they can take you home. Does that sound all right with you?” I think about it. It’s an awful long walk back home, and it is getting dark already. I take the nice lady’s hand and walk beside her, even though I know home is back the other way.





Seven


London, 2017

Jack takes my hand in his. He stares at me across the hotel restaurant table, and it feels as though everyone in the room is watching us. It’s impossible not to form a relationship offscreen when you spend this many months filming together. I know he’s enjoying this moment, and his touch feels more intimate than it should. I’m scared of what is about to happen, but it’s far too late for that now, too late to pretend we both don’t know what happens next. I can see people staring in our direction, people who know who we are, and I think he senses my apprehension, gently squeezing my fingers in silent reassurance. There’s really no need. When I make my mind up about something, it’s almost impossible for anyone to change it, including me.