their agent to say they’d landed a big part, that Steven Spielberg wanted them for his next movie, that the National Theatre had asked for them. It hadn’t happened yet, but one day …
“Maybe they
ought
to have gone and got proper jobs,” said Rose.
“No!” Jazz howled it at her. Acting was what Mum and Dad had trained for; acting was what they did best. It was impossible to imagine them working in a shop or an office.
“In that case we’ll just have to stop moaning,” said Rose, as if she hadn’t been one of the worst offenders. She gathered up her papers. “I suppose I don’t
really
mind getting writer’s cramp and wearing my fingers down to stumps.”
Next day when they arrived home Mum was waiting for them with a broad smile on her face.
“Guess what? The telephone rang!”
“Dad?” squeaked Daisy.
“No, not your dad! It was Gus.” Gus Manning was Mum’s agent. “They want me for a telly part. I’ve got to go for an interview tomorrow. The only thing is—” She gave a little laugh, rather nervous. “It’s to play the part of a thirty year old.”
“Mum, no problem!”
They hastened to reassure her. After all, thirty, forty, thought Jazz; where’s the difference?
“You can get away with it!”
“You’d pass for thirty any day!”
“You really think so?” said Mum.
“Absolutely!”
“You still look really young,” said Jazz.
“Well, one can but try. I shall wear my wig,” said Mum.
“You’ve got a new one?” gasped Laurel.
“My
honey brown
one,” said Mum.
“Oh.”
Laurel shut up after that. Jazz could guess what she was thinking: if Mum doesn’t get the part, it will be all my fault for ruining her wig …
It would, too!
But the next day when they came in, the beam on Mum’s face stretched from ear to ear.
“I got it! They didn’t bat an eyelid. I thought they’d all pull faces and think, who’s this old bag? But theyoffered it to me on the spot!” Mum giggled, happily. Jazz couldn’t decide which pleased her more, being taken for a thirty year old or being offered a part.
“What is it? Who are you playing?”
“She’s a high-powered executive. Her name’s Amanda Lovejoy. It’s two weeks’ work, starting from next Thursday. If I decide to take it.”
“If?”
“We need the money!” said Rose.
“Yes, I know we do. But it would mean I’d be out all day filming and then all evening at the theatre. I’d hardly ever see you!”
Daisy’s lips quivered. Quickly, before she could go and ruin it all, Jazz cried, “We’ll be all right! We can manage. You can’t not do it, Mum! It’s your career!”
“But I’m not sure whether you can be trusted by yourselves,” said Mum. She looked rather hard at Laurel as she said it. Laurel had had the hugest of hangovers after the party. She had felt so ill it had frightened her. She had confessed to Mum that she had drunk “just a tiny little sip” of champagne, though later she had admitted to Jazz that she’d had four glasses.
“It tasted so lovely! It was all bubbly.”
She had added, however, that she didn’t think she would be drinking it again.
“If I go ahead,” said Mum, “can I have your solemn sacred word that you will all behave yourselves?”
They promised that they would.
“And you’ll look after Daisy for me?”
“Of course we will!” said Jazz. They would never let any harm come to Daisy.
“All right, then,” said Mum. “I’ll do it!”
Would the part of Amanda Lovejoy bring in enough money for just two days a week at drama school? Jazz couldn’t help wondering, but thought perhaps it wasn’t quite the right time to ask. Best to wait until Mum had been paid!
“My God, what are you wearing?” screeched Jazz.
It was Saturday evening, and Laurel had appeared at the top of the stairs, a vision in scarlet.
“That’s Mum’s dress!” She was wearing Mum’s dress. Just to go out with mouldy old Simon!
“I know,” said Laurel. “I’ve borrowed
“Maybe they
ought
to have gone and got proper jobs,” said Rose.
“No!” Jazz howled it at her. Acting was what Mum and Dad had trained for; acting was what they did best. It was impossible to imagine them working in a shop or an office.
“In that case we’ll just have to stop moaning,” said Rose, as if she hadn’t been one of the worst offenders. She gathered up her papers. “I suppose I don’t
really
mind getting writer’s cramp and wearing my fingers down to stumps.”
Next day when they arrived home Mum was waiting for them with a broad smile on her face.
“Guess what? The telephone rang!”
“Dad?” squeaked Daisy.
“No, not your dad! It was Gus.” Gus Manning was Mum’s agent. “They want me for a telly part. I’ve got to go for an interview tomorrow. The only thing is—” She gave a little laugh, rather nervous. “It’s to play the part of a thirty year old.”
“Mum, no problem!”
They hastened to reassure her. After all, thirty, forty, thought Jazz; where’s the difference?
“You can get away with it!”
“You’d pass for thirty any day!”
“You really think so?” said Mum.
“Absolutely!”
“You still look really young,” said Jazz.
“Well, one can but try. I shall wear my wig,” said Mum.
“You’ve got a new one?” gasped Laurel.
“My
honey brown
one,” said Mum.
“Oh.”
Laurel shut up after that. Jazz could guess what she was thinking: if Mum doesn’t get the part, it will be all my fault for ruining her wig …
It would, too!
But the next day when they came in, the beam on Mum’s face stretched from ear to ear.
“I got it! They didn’t bat an eyelid. I thought they’d all pull faces and think, who’s this old bag? But theyoffered it to me on the spot!” Mum giggled, happily. Jazz couldn’t decide which pleased her more, being taken for a thirty year old or being offered a part.
“What is it? Who are you playing?”
“She’s a high-powered executive. Her name’s Amanda Lovejoy. It’s two weeks’ work, starting from next Thursday. If I decide to take it.”
“If?”
“We need the money!” said Rose.
“Yes, I know we do. But it would mean I’d be out all day filming and then all evening at the theatre. I’d hardly ever see you!”
Daisy’s lips quivered. Quickly, before she could go and ruin it all, Jazz cried, “We’ll be all right! We can manage. You can’t not do it, Mum! It’s your career!”
“But I’m not sure whether you can be trusted by yourselves,” said Mum. She looked rather hard at Laurel as she said it. Laurel had had the hugest of hangovers after the party. She had felt so ill it had frightened her. She had confessed to Mum that she had drunk “just a tiny little sip” of champagne, though later she had admitted to Jazz that she’d had four glasses.
“It tasted so lovely! It was all bubbly.”
She had added, however, that she didn’t think she would be drinking it again.
“If I go ahead,” said Mum, “can I have your solemn sacred word that you will all behave yourselves?”
They promised that they would.
“And you’ll look after Daisy for me?”
“Of course we will!” said Jazz. They would never let any harm come to Daisy.
“All right, then,” said Mum. “I’ll do it!”
Would the part of Amanda Lovejoy bring in enough money for just two days a week at drama school? Jazz couldn’t help wondering, but thought perhaps it wasn’t quite the right time to ask. Best to wait until Mum had been paid!
“My God, what are you wearing?” screeched Jazz.
It was Saturday evening, and Laurel had appeared at the top of the stairs, a vision in scarlet.
“That’s Mum’s dress!” She was wearing Mum’s dress. Just to go out with mouldy old Simon!
“I know,” said Laurel. “I’ve borrowed
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