The House Guest by Mark Edwards(42)

‘Uh-huh. Third door on the left.’

He walked down the hallway and opened a door.

‘No, third—’

A blur of black fur shot out of the room, straight past Callum, and came bounding towards me, a torrent of barks ringing out. I threw myself back against the wall as Wanda shouted, ‘Julius, no!’

The dog skidded to a halt in front of me. It was a Rottweiler. It bared its teeth and growled. I remembered Wanda saying it would kill anyone who went near her and pressed myself further against the wall, wishing I could sink into it.

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’m a friend. Friend.’

Julius took a step closer, lips drawn back, a trail of slobber hanging from his jaw. I turned to Wanda, expecting her to help, but she was smiling.

The dog sniffed me, then dropped to the ground and rolled on to his back.

‘He wants you to tickle his belly,’ she said, as Callum came back towards us, laughing.

‘Did I forget to tell you?’ Wanda said with a grin, as I crouched and stroked Julius’s tummy. ‘He’s a pussycat really.’





Chapter 22

It was Wednesday morning. Outside, the city was beginning to wake up, the sun rising on what would be another blisteringly hot day. Ruth, who had woken up at five and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep, sat in the bath and examined her bruises. They had faded to yellow and grey. Walking around was less painful and she had stopped limping.

She looked better. But inside, she felt as if she’d swallowed darkness.

Eighteen months ago, when she had begun shooting The Immaculate, one of the older actors had taken her aside and given her a torrent of unsolicited advice, all delivered in the plummy, arrogant tones of someone who thought he had life all figured out and couldn’t wait to share his wisdom.

‘Be careful,’ he had said. ‘When you are handed the fruits of success, other people will hope you choke on them.’

She’d blinked at him.

‘I’m sure you’re a good person, Ruthie,’ he said. For some reason he had taken to calling her Ruthie. ‘And you can’t imagine what it feels like to be jealous. But I’ve been there. I’ve seen it many times. In this game, we’re all like rats in a fire, scrambling for the exit. Fighting, biting, clambering over each other.’ He loved his metaphors. ‘How do you think the rats who are caught in the fire feel about their former friends who have escaped into the fresh air?’

‘Do rats have friends?’

He smiled condescendingly. ‘Perhaps not. But actors don’t have friends either. Not really. Certainly not other actors, or anyone involved in the arts. We are all competing with each other, like it or not. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Ruthie.’

‘Or rat-eat-rat.’

‘Quite. Do you have a partner? A boyfriend?’

‘I do.’

‘And is he an actor?’

‘A writer.’

He’d clutched his chest dramatically. ‘The very worst. Writers are even more rabidly competitive than actors. I think it’s something to do with all the time they spend on their own. Drives them quite mad. Anyway, do be careful, Ruthie. You’d better hope your squeeze attains success at the same time and scale as you.’

She had dismissed his lecture. Or, at least, she had tried to. Because as the film became a critical hit, she couldn’t help but hear envy in Adam’s voice, even as he praised her. When she’d got the part in the play, she’d imagined she saw fear in Adam’s eyes. When she’d talked about her co-star in Dare and the chemistry between them, she’d detected jealousy. For a long time, she had been trying to dismiss her suspicions, putting it down to the poison that veteran actor had dripped in her ear. But now she knew.

Adam would be happy she had been fired from the play.

He would be delighted she was failing.

She knew this because, yesterday, Eden had come to her and taken hold of her hands and said she had something Ruth needed to hear. Ruth had sat on the bed with Eden beside her, and listened to a conversation Eden had recorded on her phone that night Eden and Adam had gone to a bar on their own.

‘Why did you record it?’ Ruth asked.

Eden stared at her hands. ‘It’s something I do. I record conversations, for my diary. I know I shouldn’t, that it’s a breach of privacy, but I’m not doing it for malicious reasons and they only ever go into my private diary. I never share them.’

Except for now.

The sound quality was not great – there was a lot of background noise – but both their voices were audible.

Eden: It must be weird, though. Dating someone who’s on the verge of becoming famous. But also you’re going to be famous too, right? A big writer.

Adam: I’m not going to be a big writer.

Eden: Don’t say that.

Adam: But it’s true. And you’re right. A year ago we were equals. We were going to take on the world together. I was going to write the plays and the movies and she was going to star in them. I’m scared. Scared that she’s going to leave me behind, that she won’t want me anymore. I wish it could be the way it was. Just me and her. Two losers together.

‘I know it’s not nice to hear,’ Eden had said.

‘Then why play it to me?’

‘Because I think you need to hear it. I think it’s important to know who has your back and who doesn’t. You need to know who wants you to fail.’