1973

When they were through the gatehouse, Mum stopped to check Jenny one more time. ‘Oh dear, I do hope I got it right – but he did say you could wear a jersey or a cardigan and the jersey definitely looks better.’

‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ Jenny said patiently, thinking that her mother was making rather a fuss. She was wearing the new navy-blue pleated skirt and red jersey they had bought at Marks & Spencer’s. Mum had also bought a green cardigan, to be on the safe side, and she had spent the past week fretting over which one to choose.

‘Listen to me! I swore I wouldn’t turn into a pushy stage mother.’ She took her powder compact out of her handbag and stared at herself in the little mirror. ‘But this is the final audition – it’ll be such a relief to know one way or another.’

Mum was wearing her purple corduroy trouser suit, which she called her ‘Pinewood outfit’. This was their sixth visit to the famous film studio in the strange month since one of the film people had seen Jenny playing Alice in her school production of Alice in Wonderland. The visits had been like passing a series of exams. The film people had watched her dancing, they had listened to her singing, they had recorded her making faces and reading from a script.

And each time, Mum had been sure they wouldn’t pass the exam and begged Jenny not to be too disappointed if she didn’t get the part. Everyone seemed to think it was incredible that Jenny was being tried out for a part in a real movie. It was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her, though she worried that her mother was far more agitated about it than she was.

‘I can’t believe we’ve reached this stage!’ Mum was almost trotting down the path; their train had been delayed and she was worried about being late. ‘You mustn’t be too disappointed if they pick someone else.’

‘I won’t,’ said Jenny, as she always did when people said this. She was so sure she wouldn’t get the part that she was already preparing not to mind about it – though deep down, she knew she would mind dreadfully if someone else was chosen instead.

The actual making of the film seemed too weird and faraway to take seriously. Jenny had no idea what happened on a film set. She mainly liked the endless auditions because she got to spend so much time with her mother. Mum was a dentist and she was always out at work when Jenny came home from school. A plump, grey-haired woman called Mrs Beddoes was employed to make Jenny’s tea and generally keep her company. She was perfectly nice but it had been lovely having Mum all to herself. Their trips to Pinewood had been like holidays – Mum, normally so shy, really enjoyed them, and Jenny thought the time off made her look less tired and sad.

The famous studio was a collection of different-sized buildings, like a secret small town hidden behind a fence. There were huge airport hangars – sound stages – and a wondrous canteen where you sometimes saw people dressed as Roman soldiers, amongst other things. Mum let Jenny have Pepsi and chocolate when they came here, which was an enormous treat: as a dentist, Mum saw sugar as her worst enemy.

‘The film people keep telling me that you come across as a “real child”,’ said Mum. ‘As if there was such a thing as a false one. I suppose they mean you’re not the usual sort of show-off from a stage school.’

Jenny did not understand the difference between what she was doing, which was apparently good, and showing off, which wasn’t. She was ten years old, short for her age, and rather ‘chunky’, as her mother said; she was sturdy, with strong legs, and her waist didn’t go in when she wore a leotard at her dancing classes. Her face was round and serious, her eyes were brown and her dark brown hair was cut in a fashionable pageboy style with a heavy fringe. Her ex-friend Daniela had told her she wasn’t nearly pretty enough to act in a film and Jenny had believed her.

Jenny had enjoyed playing Alice but she hadn’t been chosen for her looks or her acting. One of her favourite things in the world was tap-dancing; there was nothing like the feeling of hammering out a rhythm with her feet on any hard floor (when Mum had a headache, Jenny had to wear slippers because she couldn’t stop tapping around the house). She knew she was good at it and when she did a tap dance in assembly one morning, she had liked the warm feeling of performing in front of an audience and finally being noticed. That performance had inspired one of the teachers to do a musical version of Alice in Wonderland for the school play, with Jenny as a dancing and singing Alice (she didn’t sing much at home but turned out to have a good, clear voice).

Daniela had been cross about Jenny’s success in the school play and the film made her furious. Mum had warned Jenny that some people would be jealous and this was obviously why nobody wanted to sit next to her at lunch. She didn’t exactly miss Daniela, who had only been interested in singing along to pop songs with a hairbrush microphone while Jenny watched, but that wasn’t the point. She had been Jenny’s one and only attempt at having a best friend.

Everyone else in her class had a best friend, or they belonged to a group of friends, and Jenny could never understand how they did it. She had never known how to talk to people her own age. Mum said perhaps it was because she was ‘old-fashioned’ and rather quiet and had spent so much time alone with her mother. Jenny worried sometimes that people thought she was weird, though she had no idea why, or what to do about it.

They hurried along a garden path, between beds of spindly rose bushes, to the very ordinary-looking office building where all the auditions had been held.

‘I feel like an old hand now,’ said Mum. ‘As if I worked here, or something.’ Before they went inside she took one more look at Jenny and hastily stroked her hair. ‘Well, I’ve followed all the instructions to the letter; I don’t know what else they expect. Try not to be nervous, darling.’

‘OK.’ Jenny wasn’t exactly nervous, just intensely curious to see what would happen this time.

‘You look so much like your dad! I wish he could see you now.’

Jenny’s father had died when she was three and she didn’t really remember him, though there were photos of him all over the house. It made her a little uncomfortable when Mum talked about him and sometimes cried. He was like a character in a story and she never knew what she was supposed to say, though she did remember loving him and being loved, and was always aware of the big gap in her life where her father should have been.

‘Right – deep breath – here we go.’

‘Mum, I’m fine, honestly. Please don’t worry.’ She wasn’t sure she did feel fine, but she knew there was no point in telling Mum that. She’d only worry even more.

‘You’re as cool as a cucumber!’ Mum smiled and quickly bent down to kiss the top of Jenny’s head. ‘Good luck!’

The lady at the reception desk knew them by now and didn’t need to find their names on a list. She made a phone call while Jenny and her mother hovered in the waiting area where there was a sofa and magazines.

‘Jenny, Fran, hi!’ Bob breezed in a few minutes later. Like many of the film people, Bob had an old face with young hair. His hair was blonde and straight and down to the shoulders of his trendy leather jacket. He was a kind, cheerful man and seemed to be in charge at the auditions – Jenny was confused about who people were and what they did. ‘Everyone’s here, so we’ll go right up.’

‘We’re not late, are we?’ Mum asked anxiously.

‘No, you’re bang on time.’ Bob smiled down at Jenny. ‘How’s my girl with the big brown eyes?’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ She smiled back. Now that they were here, she felt better; there was a fluttering feeling in her stomach, but she rather liked it.

‘We sent the videotapes out to Stu in LA and he said you were as cute as a button.’ Seeing her baffled face, he added, ‘Stuart Allen, the director.’

‘Oh.’

‘You’ll only meet him if you get the part.’

‘Are her clothes all right?’ Mum asked.

‘Perfect,’ said Bob. ‘You won’t have to do anything difficult today. We’ve sorted everyone into family groups, and we’re seeing how each group looks and how they interact, and so on. There are four children in this movie. We need to make sure you work as siblings. So if you don’t get cast, don’t take it personally – OK?’

‘OK,’ said Jenny.

She had often fantasised about having...