The Comeback(72)

“That was a great play the other day,” I say, smiling. “Hands down the two best menorah candles I’ve ever seen.”

Silver ignores me but Ophelia smiles back at me shyly. Emilia walks into the hallway to greet me, wearing a pair of glasses I didn’t know she needed.

“Darling, thank you for coming! Come on in,” she says, wiping her hands on her jeans.

I follow her into the kitchen and take a seat at the table. Emilia immediately puts a plate of shortbread in front of me.

“Sorry about the mess,” Emilia says, gesturing to three shopping bags sitting in the corner of the room. “I’m so pleased that you’re here. Girls, do you want to move into the playroom?”

The twins, who are playing a game on their phones, ignore her. They chat loudly and unselfconsciously, telling each other what they have achieved in terms of gold rings or makeover points in their game. Emilia raps her knuckles on the table, and Silver stands up and runs out of the kitchen in one movement while Ophelia hangs back.

Emilia puts her arm around her. “Can you make sure your sister doesn’t get too worked up? You know what she’s like.”

Ophelia nods and follows Silver out of the kitchen. Emilia pulls up a seat opposite me, tilting her head to one side as she watches me.

“Tell me everything,” she says, leaning toward me, and for a moment I forget that she’s asking about my meeting with John.

“It went well . . . I think, although obviously you never really know,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “John seems like a very interesting man.”

Emilia lets out a loud peal of laughter and she claps her hands together as if I’ve just said something utterly charming, as opposed to paying her dear friend a disingenuous compliment.

“He’s not as bad as he seems, I promise,” she says. “We all know that there’s worse out there, particularly in this industry.”

I take a bite of shortbread so that I don’t have to comment, but my stomach turns when I realize it’s the exact same kind that Able used to give me when I was younger.

“I have to audition for the part,” I say. “It’s been a while.”

“Oh no, I think that’s perfect,” Emilia says, sounding pleased. “It means that you’ll be able to silence all the people saying you’re not up to it, in one go. Nobody can deny that you earned the role.”

My discomfort at her words must be obvious, because Emilia immediately puts her hand over mine.

“I just meant . . . Look, try to think about it this way . . . At the moment, however brave they think you are, however much they respect what you said in the interview, however much they may like you, they are still just waiting for you to slip up again, because that’s how it works. They don’t want you to win. And I don’t just mean John, I’m talking about the industry as a whole, the press, even the public. But what you’re going to do is take that negativity and turn it into something you can use, let it become the thing that fuels you. And if you do that, then you’re not only going to win the part, but you’re going to win everyone’s hearts by the time this movie is finished. You’re going to be America’s sweetheart, darling.” Emilia says the last sentence in a Katharine Hepburn mid-Atlantic accent, satisfied that she has put my mind at rest. I struggle to swallow the lump of shortbread still in my mouth.

“That reminds me, actually, we need to talk about the IFAs,” Emilia says as she pushes her glass of water across the table to me. “I meant to ask you about your decision the other day, but it must have slipped my mind somewhere during the story of the Maccabees, as told through interpretive dance.”

“What does Able think?” I ask after I’ve dislodged the thick biscuit coating the back of my throat. My armpits start to prickle with sweat.

“We want it to be a surprise,” Emilia says, looking lost for a second. “Do you think he’ll hate it? He hates surprises.”

“I don’t know,” I say uncomfortably.

“You must let me know if you’re not up to it,” Emilia says, watching me closely.

“Why wouldn’t I be up to it?” I ask quietly, and as the words come out of my mouth, I realize that I’m giving Emilia the chance to tell me that she knows something was wrong. With a force that nearly stuns me, I understand what this has all been about: I want to believe that Emilia already knows what Able did, because if she can forgive me, then I will have all the proof I ever needed that none of it was my fault. I blink back hot tears that sting my eyes as I wait for my friend to answer my question.

“You know, I tried to explain something the other day, but I think I wasn’t entirely honest with you,” Emilia says, and I can hear the sound of my blood rushing in my ears.

“You asked why I wanted to help you, and, the truth is, I do feel responsible for you. I was the one who promised I’d look after you at the beginning. I was the one who went to your parents’ house to get you to sign up for Lights. At the time, I thought it was the best thing for you, but now I’m not so sure. You would barely talk to me after that, and I just let you drift away. Then when Able didn’t sign you up for the next one . . . I don’t know, it must have felt like we abandoned you.”

“I don’t know if that’s entirely accurate,” I say, my voice tight.